Leave the Lights On
by Strawberrywaltz
Summary: Five times Clint and Natasha slept together in the same bed and the one time they didn't sleep at all. Slow Building BlackHawk
1. Chapter 1

_Summery: Five times Clint and Natasha slept together in the same bed and the one time they didn't sleep at all. BlackHawk_

_This is going to be a slow building BlackHawk story ^^ _

_Also this was not beta'd and I don't own anything…but if Jeremy Renner's is for sale PLEASE let me know!_

_I've been wanting to do a Five Times story for a while now and this sort of hit me last night when I was attempting to sleep. I hope you guys enjoy!_

_This story is in the process of being 'proof read' by the amazing Susan M. ^^_

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It was their first long-term mission working together and the trust between the two partners was non-existent.

Barton viewed Agent Romanoff as a powerful asset. He saw something within her that no one else could see – which is why Clint had made the decision to spare her life and bring her into Shield – but his handler Phil Coulson and Director Fury both warned him to watch his back. The Black Widow was known for killing men when they were locked inside her web of false security. Though she had become a Shield Agent by her own choice – the other option being death – there was still a risk her cooperation was all some elaborate play or game to the Russian. That or the Romanoff was simply biding her time until she could escape properly.

Clint himself wanted to trust her because he knew she needed someone to open that door for her – and he'd always been a gentlemen. The sniper also understood what it was like living in a world where the only thing you could trust was your own shadow. It had taken time but Phil had broken Clint of that way of thinking. Shield had given Agent Barton a home and a family – albeit a strange one.

He wanted to give Romanoff something to live for, but first he had to make sure she wouldn't kill him in the process.

Currently they were in their designated safe house or rather hotel room. It was a run down building in Reno, Nevada. Of course they couldn't stay in the Nugget or the Silver Legacy somewhere nice and classy. Shield didn't work that way and Clint was used to it. At least their room was on the top floor and had a roof access through the fire escape – Barton was content.

Apparently Romanoff was used to these conditions as well because she didn't comment or look surprised. Then again the Widow never showed her true emotions.

It was late but neither one of them made a move towards the lone double bed. There had been some sort of mix up back at Shield in the sleeping arrangements – although Clint had a sneaking suspicion that Phil had planned this somehow. The man was always pulling strings and pushing Clint into situations to make him 'grow' as an agent and as a man. Coulson was simply conniving like that in an older brother kind of way.

Pretending to read over the mission brief he'd already memorized Clint risked a hidden glance at Romanoff on the other side of the room. They hadn't talked in hours – there was nothing really to say. They didn't know one another well enough to ease into common short talk or meaningless chatter.

The sniper was used to silence – it was part of his profession to sit and wait quietly for his target to enter his sights. Still when Clint didn't have to be quiet he preferred to talk – even if it was just to break up the silence. Coulson understood that and put up with his pointless topics with the patient's of a saint – Clint was pretty sure Romanoff wouldn't be so accommodating. Maybe he'd test her tolerance in a safe environment on their down time back at headquarters.

From his position Clint saw the Widow stretching in some sort of yoga position – meditating perhaps since her eyes were closed. As soon as he set the brief back down on the table her eyes were opened and watching him. There was no illusion that there wasn't much – if any – trust between the two. They were practically strangers apart from what was written in their files.

All she had was the knowledge that Clint had spared her life and all the archer had was the Russian's obsession to pay him back for the debt she claimed to owed him.

In the long run the two agents had a mission to complete and if they both survived it would be a plus.

For now Clint wouldn't be sleeping any time soon – not while he was still unsure if he'd wake up to the feeling of a knife against his neck or not. Why take any unnecessary risks?

_Ugh_, Barton thought with a small smirk, _I'm channeling Phil._ The man had practically drilled the fear into Clint before they left Shield.

Coulson was always the worrier of the pair – Clint was more of the 'act first, contemplate life later' type. Still Phil had done well training Barton over the years and Clint found himself thinking a bit more then he used to.

As night slipped into morning and neither agent had slept, which honestly wasn't all that surprising.

When the clock struck five that morning the two agents were ready for a full day of work. Agent Romanoff would spend the day seducing the target while Barton acted as cover from a safe distance doing whatever it took to stay in visual rang.

The target was the money behind a corporation that dealt with human and weapon trafficking. Rumor had it that Vance Carter was also backing the newly reformed HYDRA, which was bad news for the world. If Mr. Carter was deemed a threat he would be eliminated easily enough, but that would be after Romanoff squeezed any and all useful information out of the man.

It was amazing how a pretty face could trick men and the occasional women into given away everything – especially when they didn't even realize what was happening.

Clint found watching his new partner work fascinating. Though he had worked a few long-term undercover ops himself, Barton never felt comfortable in that mindset. The assassin had always preferred action over talking, even though he was very capable of both.

Posing as a rich college student on holiday Romanoff pulled the target in with her girlish charm. It was an amazing and exhausting act or at least Clint assumed it had to be. Romanoff was normally a statue unless she was fighting – tense, stiff and calculating. At the moment she was oozing with childlike energy and giggling like a schoolgirl with excitement and wonder.

It was endearing enough for Carter to take quick notice and be drawn into the Widow's web. The man clearly had ten years on Romanoff, but that didn't seem to stop the man. With the hook in Barton was sure things would run smoothly from here on out – the Widow was flawless.

Unlike agent Romanoff, Clint's job was a tad trickier. While she only had to focus on one role Clint threw himself into twenty that day alone. Blending in and following the target and his partner from a safe and controlled distance.

If Romanoff and the target stayed in one place the whole day it would be easier for the sniper – Clint could have simply set up a nest on top of a near by building and kept an eye on things through his scope.

Throughout the day Barton played the several different tourists, a chief, a waiter, a bellboy, a bartender, a businessman, a street singer, a homeless man and several other parts. Switching clothes and attitudes as they went along and became available to him – always blending in, always hiding in plain sight and always moving.

By the second day of this both agents were exhausted when they returned to their hotel room. Though they had gotten a decent amount of information out of the target their job was far from over and neither one of them had risked sleep.

The agents hadn't spoken outside of operation talk although that night Romanoff threw Barton a few questioning looks and he found himself glancing at the bed more and more frequently. It would do them both good to rest before the next day, but a cautioning alarm screamed in the back of Clint's mind. Neon lights of warning lit up by Phil no doubt, Barton sighed.

It took an hour for Clint to tune out Coulson's voice in the back of his head – he needed sleep and there was a perfectly good bed there waiting for him. Standing from his chair Clint stripped out of his shirt and tossing it towards his duffle bag. Barton opted to keep his pants on and laid down on top of the covers for better mobility – just incase Romanoff did attempt to kill him in his sleep.

Raising an eyebrow Romanoff watched him carefully.

"You should consider sleeping too." Clint offered the olive branch hoping she'd take it. It was a step in the right direction to build trust – or so Barton rationalized. If they were working in the field watching one another's backs they should be able to sleep in the same room and not be afraid the other would attempt murder.

Not that Barton had any desire to kill his partner – but he didn't know Romanoff like she didn't know him.

Besides it was dangerous for them to be fatigued on a mission like this. They both could go without sleep for days if necessary, but they needed to stay sharp – they couldn't afford to miss anything of value.

Closing his eyes Clint evened out his breathing and faked sleep for a few minutes – testing the waters. His ears were alerted to any noise – though Clint was well aware that the Widow wouldn't make a single sound if she moved in to kill him.

Just as he was about to allow himself to drift off into the welcoming arms of sleep Barton felt the other side of the bed dip slightly under the pressure of a body. The muscles in the snipers back tensed for a moment as he followed her slow calculated movements. In his mind Clint could picture what was happening by judging the shifts of the sensitive springs under them – Romanoff was curling up slightly on her side, her back to his back at a safe non-touching distance.

Agent Romanoff had accepted Barton's offer of trust in the simple 'I'll trust you if you trust me' way. He hoped it would work out for them in the end.

_So far, so good_, Clint thought half heartedly as he allowed himself to drift off.

* * *

_Okay, so thus the end of the first chapter. I hope you enjoyed it although I know it was a bit slow. The next chapter will have a bit more action in it…maybe some blood…possibly some guts._

_This is also my first 'relationship' fiction ever…so please bare with me, I'm trying to make it as believable as possible ^^_

_Reviews and Reviewers are loved!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks so much to Susan M. who agreed to look through and help me out with my grammar! _

_I won't lie when I say that I'm very happy with how this chapter turned out ^^ I hope you guys enjoy it!_

_Warnings: Torture. Also, this wasn't beta'd…mostly because I was too lazy to email it… ^^;_

_Thank you to everyone who reviewed for the first chapter! Jedi sheng, lillyflora, mushroomking98, love4lots, H4ZEL, saddayslove, retka hyuuga, candy-belle, kisa, dontstopthelove15, sandpiper01, roguerecruit, discordchick, riptide2, chulala, saffa, and finally famous4it! You guys are the definition of epic ^^_

_Oh yes, and these chapters are stand-a-lones so this isn't a continuation of the first chapter !_

_EDIT: The German translator I used apparently was pretty terrible so the lovely blackdog-lz helped me out with an actual translation. So I've changed the German ^^ For all those out there that were confused!_

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Chapter Two

She was secured to a chair as they worked on him. Natasha kept her eyes focused and blank, not allowing any emotion to leak out as she watched the men beat her partner. The Russian didn't flinch at what she witnessed – torture wasn't something she was unfamiliar with. It was like a friend – a cruel, backstabbing friend that refused to leave your life.

Barton had been stripped of his weapons before they brought him in to join the Widow. With a swift kick to the back of his legs Barton was kneeling on the cement floor with his hands bound tightly behind his back and a bullet wound leaking on his upper left thigh.

It was his fault he was in this mess anyway – why should she care if he was in pain?

"You could save him from further injury. I only wish to know who sent you to spy on me." Their host offered as he stood off to the side lighting a cigar casually with an elegantly engraved silver Zippo. The man was dressed in a pin sharp black suit with diamond cuffs at his wrists, Nicolas Kolakovic looked out of place in this dank prison the two Shield agents had been brought to.

Breathing in a deep drag of his newly lit cigar, Kolakovic turned his predator-like gaze onto Natasha, his eyes lingering on her breasts as he exhaled the used smoke into her face.

Coughing involuntarily, Natasha glared at her captor and kept silent.

"Very well." Nicolas spoke smoothly after a pause, turning his gaze from Natasha to Barton. "Let's get creative, shall we? I want to hear this man scream." The crooked smile that curled on the man's chapped lips told Natasha that he would have tortured Hawkeye with or without her cooperation – it was just in the German's sick and twisted nature.

So far Barton had been silent as Nicolas's henchmen used his body as a punching bag. There had been a grunt here and there but no screaming or crying out. Natasha's partner was calm and collected – Barton was also a stupid asshole.

As Nicolas stepped closer to the kneeling agent, he smiled down at the archer with a contemplative expression. Like an artist staring at a blank canvas picturing all the possibilities before starting on a masterpiece. "Where shall I begin? What is your breaking point?" The German questioned out loud in a thoughtful tone.

"Let's make it a surprise, wouldn't want to ruin your fun." Barton opened his stupid mouth making Natasha wish her hands were free so she could smack her forehead, or his forehead since that would be more satisfying.

Nicolas seemed to read the Widow's mind because the German lashed out with his closed fist catching Barton solidly on his jaw.

"Ouch." Barton deadpanned before spitting a gob of blood on Nicolas's expensive shoes.

Again Natasha wanted nothing more then to hit her partner herself. Perhaps she could persuade Kolakovic into allowing her to take over the interrogation – it was clear that her partner needed to be taught a lesson.

In one fluid movement Nicolas reached out and grabbed a fistful of Barton's hair and forced the archer's head back sharply. With his free hand Nicolas pulled the orange tipped cigar from his lips and smiled cruelly. "These shoes were custom made," the German blew smoke out his nose like a dragon – his face inches from the agent. "You will pay for ruining them."

With a simple flick of the still burning cigar Kolakovic sent ash into Barton's eyes causing the Hawk to flinch away for the first time.

"Ah, does that bother you?" Nicolas stage whispered possessively in Barton's ear, trailing the hot tip of the cigar down the side of the archer's jaw line leaving a trail of ash and burnt skin in its wake. The cigar hissed loudly when it was pressed deep into the soft flesh of Barton's neck just behind his ear.

Natasha watched Barton tense up, his jaw locking against the pain – holding in the scream of agony he probably wanted to let out. The only noise the SHIELD Agent made was the quick hissing sound of inhaling air sharply through his nose.

"Stubborn." Nicolas smiled sadistically. "But I've always have enjoyed a challenge."

Pulling on Barton's hair the German forced the archer's face to tip further in his direction, Kolakovic's dark eyes inches from the Hawk's tri-colored stare. "Such beauty, what if I were to take away your sight? I've heard about you – Agent Barton. You are well known for your gifted aim – once that is gone what will be left of you?"

From across the room Natasha saw her partner tense further at the threat even though Barton's expression remained even and unconcerned. Not reacting wasn't enough to derail Nicolas from his new idea for torture.

"We shall start simple, but slowly – bit by bit – I will take your eyes from you. I am sure there would be many bidders wanting your eyes placed like a trophy on their shelf." Nicolas released Hawkeye's hair and motioned to one of his minions. "_Bring_ _mir ein Glas Salzwasser, hauptsachlich mit Salz._" The man turned back to Barton and smiled. "I will hear that beautiful scream of yours." Kolakovic promised.

Barton glared back defiantly but kept his mouth shut for once – at least he was learning.

_Stupid idiot! _ Natasha cursed Barton in her mind. This was his own damned fault, Natasha reminded herself coldly. She had told Barton to leave her behind and complete the mission – Hawkeye had the chance to get away and ignored it.

Her heart was beating wildly in her chest as Nicolas threatened her partner's eyes – Barton's beautiful blue-green-grey eyes. Forever changing color like the tides changed in the ocean – never the same, always so spirited. Now Natasha was to be a witness to their destruction – it infuriated her! How dare he make this sacrifice for her?

It served Barton right for behaving so foolishly, but why did the Widow's heart physically ache for his loss?

Heroes were made to suffer – chivalry was dead.

Still, Barton had been saving Natasha ever since they had met one year ago – on the mission where he was supposed to take her life. Now finally Clint Barton was paying the price for his weakness – for not doing his job – and it was breaking Natasha's heart.

Biting the inside of her cheek with ferocity Natasha struggled to keep her emotions safely buried deep inside of her. Emotions had no place within the Russian's psyche – it waged war against every fiber of her training.

"While we wait," Nicolas drew Natasha out of her own mind and back into the cold present. The German had changed weapons, slipping his cigar back between his lips as he took an offered knife from one of the men standing guard.

Barton eyed the blade with no concern leaking through his carefree facade – in fact Hawkeye looked annoyed. Natasha was surprised how well she knew her partner. It was Barton's breathing that gave him away – too timed and concentrated – like he was focusing on the motion to keep himself grounded.

Barton was afraid.

It was a sigh of relief when the knife only played momentarily around the Hawk's eyes and then danced down towards Barton's chest.

The knife slid easily down the material of Barton's dark shirt, cutting through the material and the first layer of the man's skin down his already scarred chest. The cut that dripped red went from the base of Barton's neck to his lower abdomen.

Natasha stared blankly at the blood but Barton didn't even flinch from the pain, raising an eyebrow up at Kolakovic – as if questioning if that was all.

It wasn't.

The knife sketched over fragile flesh, tearing and digging into Hawkeye's skin until the German word 'blind' was carved into the agent's chest in bold bloody letters. Barton sat silently watching the movements of the knife not giving any reaction.

Barton clearly had an impressively high tolerance for pain and the Widow was mildly impressed. This was not the first time she had seen her partner injured but this was the first time she had witnessed him being tortured like this right in front of her.

Natasha stared at the bloody word and tried to judge if the gashes would scar – she hoped not. The word mocked the Widow as she continued to watch her partner being brutalized in front of her. Briefly Natasha considered distracting Kolakovic – drawing the attention away from the Hawk and back to herself and saving Barton from more pain.

Her partner must have sensed her thoughts because suddenly the Hawk's expressive eyes were locked on her and his head gave a slight shake – no.

Idiot.

"From now on you are branded. After I'm through you will be blind – helpless." Nicolas paused his taunting as one of his minions returned with a glass of thick foggy solution. "Ah, this will be the first phase before I take your eyes completely." The German informed the Hawk with a chuckle laced behind the words.

With a nod a minion pulled Barton's head back viciously, holding him still as the agent struggled for the first time during their careful ministrations.

Natasha's heart clenched within her as Nicolas raised the glass to poured the liquid over her partner's eyes – the German paused. "No closing your eyes, my dear Hawk." The man's sickly smooth voice beckoned. Another one of the German's men stepped forward, using his rough fingers to force Barton's eyes open as the liquid fell from the glass onto his fragile retinas.

It was mostly thick pellets of rock salt with a little bit of water to make the substance more like a paste rather then liquid. It piled onto the Hawk's sensitive irises – scratching and burrowing deep into his cornea.

Barton's breath hitched as the first bit of solution met his eyes, then he thrashed as the painful stinging began to deepen into a firestorm of torture. Grunts became cries as more of the slushy salt poured down – it chilled Natasha watching him struggle to turn his head away and being unable to do so. The cries were muted as the archer locked his jaw in place stubbornly – refusing to outright wail despite the obvious agony he was in.

The Hawk's breathing had become harsh and ragged – the calm control had quickly dissolved into hyperventilating panic as Barton struggled not to give in and scream.

Natasha felt something burn the back of her own eyes as she watched silently – forgotten and bound to her chair. Not completely forgotten, Kolakovic was smart enough to keep a gun pointed at her head during all of this. Even if she could slip free of her restraints – which of course she could – Natasha knew she wouldn't be any good to Barton if she were to die.

_He deserves this_, Natasha tried to console herself – finding it impossible to turn away from the sight. Her partner had allowed himself to be captured – Barton had asked for this to happen to him.

_He's weak_.

Yet Barton was easily the strongest man Natasha had ever known.

The struggles faded slightly and Kolakovic still hadn't gotten his scream – Natasha could see the frustration on the German's face as he reached down and physically crushed the pellets of salt deeper into the Hawk's eyes – causing as much damage as possible with the simple method of torture.

The strangled scream that escaped through Barton's throat deafened Natasha for a moment – it took the Russian longer than she'd like to admit to realize when it was over.

Nicolas stepped away from Barton's hunched over and withering form and smirked smugly down at the man. The salt wouldn't permanently destroy the Hawk's vision, but for now he wouldn't be able to see clearly and he would be in constant pain. The harsh treatment would impair Barton's ability to see until the cuts could heal properly – if they were even given the chance.

"Take them to their accommodations. We shall pick up on this tomorrow." The German smiled at Natasha in a twisted fashion. "Perhaps tomorrow you will feel more sympathy for your partner's situation and give me my answers." He smiled back at Barton who was struggling against his bonds and blinking his damaged eyes painfully – trying to relieve the suffering he had no control over.

When the two SHIELD agents were thrown into what would be their cell, Barton expertly twisted his hands free of his metal bindings and brought his fingers up to his eyes.

Natasha watched disapprovingly at his actions but couldn't quite blame him. Her own hands were free and she had the advantage of being able to see. Briefly she allowed herself to dwell on how the Hawk might feel – losing his most trusted sense.

"Where are we?" Barton questioned, his voice gravely from the pain. His eyes were red rimmed and heavily swollen from the treatment they'd received. "The room, what does it look like?" He rasped, trying to clarify the vague question.

"Four concrete walls, no windows or vents, one locked door, one bed in the right corner." Natasha informed him coldly.

Her tone was not lost on her partner. The archer's eyes blinked furiously, shying away from the too bright florescent light above them. "Geez, what crawled up your ass?" Barton hissed back at her, rubbing at his eyes with a pained expression.

"Stop doing that, you're causing more damage." Natasha snapped at her partner who reluctantly obeyed.

With a disgruntled sigh Hawkeye moved over to where Natasha had informed him the bed was and perched himself on the edge of the mattress. "Okay, what did I do?" He demanded in a no-nonsense tone.

"You didn't complete the mission." The Russian fired back her answer easily.

Barton snorted, "That all?"

"Why did you come back for me Barton? You needed to completed the mission – I would have been fine." The redhead hissed out her frustration. For Natasha this mission was personal. The arms dealer Nicolas Kolakovic had information on a group he was funding – a group that was training children as specialized assassins. It was an assignment that made the Russian's scars of her shadowed past bleed once more.

The mission needed to be completed – that program had to be stopped.

"Do you know how much paperwork is involved in filing for a new partner?" Hawkeye risked a joke, his tone light despite the wince deeply etched into his features. "Besides, today's our one year anniversary. What kind of partner would I be if I let you die today, Tasha?"

"It's Romanoff, _Agent_ Barton." Natasha corrected him sharply. Over the last few weeks Barton had been pushing for informalities when it came to their names – but informalities meant attachment and Natasha refused to get attached to Hawkeye.

Partners either betrayed you or died – although Natasha was positive by this point Barton would die before betraying her - the thought of that happening was worse. It was hard not to want to trust Barton, to be his friend, to let him in – he was a straight up good guy and loyal to a fault. A very big fault that normally got the moron killed on several occasions – this one included.

Ever since the first day they met – one year ago that day – Barton had been faithful in protecting Natasha. On missions he watched her back and at SHIELD Hawkeye defended her when others whispered about her crimson stained past – although she refused to acknowledge needing the help. It was still silently appreciated.

"Fine, be that way." Barton tried to smile as salty red tinted tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes due to the mistreatment they'd received. The Hawk kept blinking and Natasha couldn't help but think how painful it must be.

"I won't let you in on the plan." He announced after a moment of blessed silence, finally ducking his head away from the light.

Natasha stared at him for a moment with uncertainty. "The plan?"

"Yes, the plan. Coulson probably just stopped for donuts." Barton shrugged it off like the information was nothing. "The man has a unhealthy obsession." Hawkeye added with a dramatic sigh, shaking his head ever so slightly.

So help was coming; Natasha breathed out a quiet sigh of relief. Maybe Hawkeye's sight wouldn't be lost after all.

"Don't act so surprised," Barton scoffed lightly, shaky hands coming up to rub his eyes once again. "I wasn't going to leave you here to that bastard and I wasn't going to risk the mission. I don't always jump without looking – I just do that most of the time."

Natasha waited a beat, studying her partner. The salt was meant to be painful more than destroy Barton's vision. The grains of salt scratched up his retinas and the swelling and irritation would limit Hawkeye's vision. The pain would probably continue long after they were able to properly flush the salt grains from Barton's eyes – for now it was best if he would stop adding damage by scratching.

Reaching out Natasha grabbed Barton's hand and forcefully pushed it away from his eyes. "Stop that – do you want to hurt yourself further?"

"It's burning." The Hawk whined back at her. His puffy red eyes glared at her and Natasha couldn't help but wonder if he could see her at all through the swelling.

"Don't be such a baby, let me look at them." Her voice was still hard and annoyed, but she'd be lying if she said she didn't care – thankfully she was an expert liar. Placing her hands carefully on either side of his face, the Widow leaned in to get a good look at his inflamed eyes. "I can't flush out the salt, but I think we should cover them. It'll help with the sensitivity to light." Silently Natasha hoped that they were only dealing with corneal abrasions and not a detached retina. Either way, it would be very bad if Barton's eyes were to get infected.

Hawkeye tensed sharply at the suggestion. "No, I need to be able to see. Even if I can't see all that well."

He was afraid – Natasha realized numbly. Glancing at the word carved into his chest Natasha took a moment to recompose herself again. Hawkeye had every right to be frightened. "Barton, do you trust me?" She asked carefully, unsure if she wanted the honest answer she knew he'd give.

There was only a second pause before he answered. "With my life."

Masking a sharp intake of breath Natasha nodded needlessly. "Then let me be the eyes of this team for once."

For a minute there was silence.

"Only if you let me call you 'Tasha.'" Clint grinned brightly, squinting up at her as a fresh stream of red drops trickled down his cheeks. It was odd seeing him cry even though he wasn't crying at all.

With a roll of her eyes Natasha pulled away from the man. "Fine. Call it my anniversary present to you." She sighed in a longsuffering manor. Natasha was too tired to fight him at this point.

Hawkeye grinned happily but sobered suddenly. "Crap, I didn't get you anything."

"Close your eyes, Hawkeye." Natasha growled though her tone was becoming less edgy – Barton just brought out the nice side of her. Especially when he was injured. Tearing a strip of material off of the pillowcase Natasha moved to sit next to Barton on the bed and waited for him to obey her.

"You can call me Clint, you know," Barton offered, his shoulder muscles knotted with tension as he tried to look at what was in her hand.

"The blindfold will protect your eyes," Natasha explained, ignoring his permission to use his first name – it wasn't the first time he had given it. "The cuts on your retinas are making your optic nerves more sensitive to light and keeping them closed and bound will also help protect them from bacteria."

For once Barton didn't say a word – answering the unasked question of permission with a small nod and carefully slid his swollen eyes closed. Natasha's heart skipped a bit as she watched him trust her. To Clint his sight was his world and he was giving it up because his partner had offered to support him. Something she never had done before in the year they had worked together.

Carefully Natasha wrapped the material over her partner's injured eyes. Every muscle her hands brushed against was ridged. "It's not that I don't trust you." Clint spoke up when Natasha finished – his voice just above a whisper and strained.

"I know." If Barton didn't trust Natasha he wouldn't have allowed her to cover his eyes. But without his sight he was vulnerable.

Clearing his throat the Hawk tipped his head a little as if trying to soak in every sound around them. It was the only measure of defense he had left.

"We probably have a few hours, before someone comes for us – or Coulson gets here." Natasha found herself saying. "Maybe we should try and sleep." She was exhausted herself – this mission had kept sleep at a distance for the Russian. Watching her partner being tortured was draining – Natasha couldn't imagine how tired Clint must be feeling.

For a minute Hawkeye just listened to the world around them – all Natasha could hear was the sound of their breathing. Silently she wondered what he could hear.

When he didn't answer Natasha pressed on, "Clint."

Barton smiled at his first name, turning his attention back to her. "See, was that so hard? You liked saying my name didn't you? Admit it – say it again." He teased lightly with a song in his voice.

"_Clint_," Natasha stressed the name like a threat, but it felt good to humor him. "We should try and sleep." Carefully she reached out, her hand brushing his shoulder causing him to flinch slightly – he hadn't been expecting the touch.

"Sorry. It's just," Hawkeye's voice faded out before it regained strength. "If I sleep I either wake to salvation or damnation." Clint smirked humorlessly.

Natasha frowned even though he couldn't see her reaction. "We won't let Kolakovic take your eyes." She promised, "I won't let him." Before Clint could say something annoyingly endearing Natasha continued, "You said it yourself – filing for a new partner involves a lot of paperwork. Not to mention Coulson would be pissed enough to make up extra paperwork just to torture me."

Clint smiled. "He'll be here soon." It sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than her.

"Yes." She agreed, though Natasha couldn't tell if she was lying to him or not.

Gently Natasha guided her partner to lay back on the small cot. When Natasha moved away to stand, Barton's hand shot out to grab hers. "Don't leave," Clint requested softly.

With a sigh Natasha weighed her options looking down at the blindfolded man. "Move over."

When Clint scooted aside, Natasha slipped next to him on the cot.

"Next year for our anniversary we should go to Budapest." Barton offered suddenly. His voice was soft and calm with Natasha at his side. The Russian assassin found herself smiling lightly at the suggestion but she made no indication of answering him.

Hopefully when the morning came they would be on their way back to SHIELD. For now Natasha would be Clint's anchor to the world.

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_Thanks for reading! You guys are the best!_

_I'm in slight celebration because once this chapter is posted I will have written 100,686 words for this site ^^ Victory._

_Reviews and Reviewers are love! ^^_


	3. Chapter 3 part 1

_Okay guys, firstly I'd like to apologies for the delay. If you haven't checked my profile page you are probably pretty pissed at me ^^; my bad. I've been swamped with real life – family stuff. I'm still in the middle of it but I have more time to write now. _

_The next section of story is split into three sections. Mostly because I wanted to get _something_ out for you guys to read (so you know I'm alive) _

_The first section is rather short because it's sort of a preview chapter, the first of three. _

_I also would like to thank you all for reviewing for the last chapter! I think that was a record high for reviews for one chapter for me ^^ It made me extremely happy! _

_Enjoy!_

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Part One of Three

Returning from a short but taxing solo mission in China Natasha had two things on her mind – a long hot bath and sleeping for the next two days. Those desires were promptly forgotten just after she finished her debriefing with Director Fury.

"Romanoff, it's good to see you back in one piece." Phil Coulson greeted her casually in the hallway just outside of the Director's office.

It wasn't exactly odd for Coulson to check up on Natasha after she returned from a solo mission. Whenever Natasha and Clint were split up on solo missions Barton got Phil as his handler leaving the Widow with whoever was brave enough to take her on. The Russian figured Coulson's little remarks after a mission were how Phil showed he cared about what happened to her. It was clear to the Russian that Barton was their handler's favorite, which was fine – if Natasha had to choose between the two men she'd take Clint.

Typically Coulson didn't openly seek Natasha out – the 'you're back' comments were made in passing in the hallway or in the gym when she was sparing with Barton. This time it was obvious to Natasha that Coulson had been waiting for her – it was also obvious that behind the pleasantries something was very wrong.

Natasha eyed the older man with the smallest hint of a frown badly masked by her normal indifference. "I'm guessing the reason you're here is because Barton wasn't as lucky?" She questioned lightly not giving any indication that she cared either way.

Inside of Natasha's facade it suddenly felt like someone had reached inside of her body and grabbed her heart. Had Clint been seriously injured – again – or was it something worse? Something unthinkable?

Though it was a little unfair to jump to the worse case scenario it was difficult for the Russian not to. Ever since they started working together as partners Natasha learned that Barton was competent and could handle his own in battles both far away and close at hand. She also learned that when the Hawk's luck ran out it ran out entirely – the injuries received were never half-assed but spectacular works of twisted art.

"Straight to the point – as always." Coulson sighed and nodded, losing his mask of calm. His shoulders fell and hunched forward a bit showing the tension and stress in his muscles and his eyes took on a weary desperate look. Something had rattled the normally stoic man – something bad.

Natasha readied herself for the likely news she knew was about to come. Her partner – the man who had saved her life countless times was dead.

"As you know when you received orders for your solo mission Agent Barton had been given a task of his own." Coulson started, all business – as usual. Natasha just wanted him to get it over with.

_Go on_, Natasha begged silently with her eyes, _just say it._

"It was supposed to be a simple Assess the Threat mission – a watch and learn kind of thing. Something Barton excels at." Phil used excels – Natasha noticed – not excelled. Perhaps her partner wasn't dead after all – however Coulson was overly attached to the Hawk. The word choice could be because of denial.

Natasha's heart turned to stone.

"Everything appeared to be running smoothly until yesterday when Hawkeye missed his scheduled check in." Phil smirked a bit, "You know as well as I do that isn't so unusual, especially when the threat level is relatively low. However we have yet to hear from Barton." Coulson sobered quickly and stood up straighter. "After repeated failed attempts to reestablish contact I've decided to send an agent out to check on the situation. When I heard you were back – "

"I'm going to need the mission file Barton was given and any additional information you have on the target." Natasha interrupted Coulson without a second's hesitation – moving expertly down the hallways of shield as she spoke. "I'll need transport to – " Natasha paused her commands and glanced over at Coulson speed walking to keep up with her.

Picking up that the Russian was unsure of the destination Phil quickly clued her in, "Chicago, Illinois."

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_End of Part One_

_Reviews are love! And I love, love…_

_Thanks for reading! _


	4. Chapter 3 part 2

_Thanks for reading and a special thanks to all those who take the time to review – you make my day shinny! _

_Here's the next section of chapter three!_

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Part Two of Three

It was hot, but then again it was mid-summer. Still the heat was impressive to Natasha as she walked down the sidewalk towards her partner's safe house. The location was outside of the city, which seemed a bit odd – normally the bad guys didn't live in the suburbs.

The neighborhood was painfully innocent – perfectly manicured green lawns, trimmed trees and flowered bushes landscaped each house and children were playing happily in the freaking street. It was the perfect location to film some creepy house wives television show. Where the people looked perfect and acted too friendly because they were really alien robots or something planning an invasion.

Natasha rolled her eyes at the random comparison – clearly she had allowed her partner too much power of choice when they watched movies on their down time.

Clint's cover for the original mission had been a commercial airline pilot taking an extended vacation after his fiancé died in a tragic car accident – new place, new people, new life away from his memories. It was an angle to get sympathy from those around him and also distance. Strangers let strangers grieve alone for the most part – giving Barton space to do whatever he wanted around the neighborhood without too much scrutiny.

Showing off her innocent side, Natasha was dressed in a casual baby blue sundress. The cover Phil had given her was Barton's cousin visiting from California – if anyone asked. In a place like this people asking questions did seem likely – nosy neighbors were already glancing at her oddly as the redhead walked along the sidewalk.

The target lived across the street from the Clint's safe house giving Hawkeye the perfect angle to observe her movements. Of course the close proximity also allowed the target to watch the watcher.

Using a Shield issued spare key Natasha slipped inside the small two-story house that had acted as Clint's temporary home for the last week and a half. It was military clean inside – no signs of struggle. The decorating had been courtesy of Shield and aimed to fit Barton's cover story. No photographs, no real decorations – just the bare essentials kept in the most simplistic way. It fit someone trying to outrun his past.

Once the windows were covered with the house's thick curtains Natasha began her search for clues. With a frown born of deep concentration the Russian spy dropped her charade of innocence and slipped comfortably into killer mode. Something had happened to her partner and Natasha was determined to find out what.

Sweeping through the first floor the Russian spy found nothing of use. Everything was clean – no fingerprints, no signs of anything unusual, no signs of anyone ever being there. These things didn't alarm Natasha – all Shield agents were trained to keep their identities a secret – if an agent was burned they were useless in the field. Keeping identities secure meant erasing any evidence of ever being somewhere – fingerprints included. Wiping down objects or using gloves became routine for Shield agents.

Odds were the lack of fingerprints meant Clint rarely had strangers inside the house rather than someone else taking the time to wipe down every surface.

Natasha's heart beat elevated as she took to the stairs hoping that the second floor of the safe house would prove more helpful in locating her partner.

Bypassing the bathroom and spare bedroom Natasha moved silently to the only closed door in sight – Clint's temporary bedroom. With a twist of the brass doorknob the assassin was inside.

Natasha's heart stopped. There lying on the bed was her missing partner.

Blinking hard the Russian thought her mind was playing tricks on her, but no, there Barton was – alive and from the looks of it uninjured.

"Are you – you've got to be kidding me!" Natasha snapped, her voice as sharp as a razor and the desire to kill the sleeping man evident on her face. "Get up!" She gave a hard shove at Barton's still boot clad foot.

The Hawk was fully clothed sprawled supine on top of the bed's comforter appearing oblivious to the world with his eyes closed and breath even. It pissed Natasha of, here Barton had needlessly worried Coulson and she had to travel just after getting back from her last mission to see if Hawkeye was okay. Unbelievable.

It took a minute for the red film of anger to subside from the Widow's eyes, when it did the situation hadn't changed.

Sleeping with his clothes on wasn't an odd thing for Barton to do when he was exhausted. What did strike Natasha odd was the lack of response the Hawk gave to the commotion around him. Clint was anything but a sound sleeper – always waking at the slightest noises. Barton was also known to wake up swinging when startled – making Natasha's actions a bit rash, but she was furious.

Clint didn't move.

The air vanished from Natasha's lungs replaced by a consuming panic – the cold-hearted Russian found herself drowning in flooding fear, leaving her very close to hyperventilation. Without another word the Russian's hand flew out to Clint's neck to check for a pulse – it was there, fluttering a little too quickly under her trembling fingers. His skin felt hot as if he had a fever and for the first time Natasha saw the beads of sweat gathered on his forehead – something was wrong, oh so very wrong.

"Barton!" Natasha screamed finding it difficult to keep the panic from slipping into her firm tone.

Clint didn't flinch or make a sound in reply – his eyes remained closed and his breathing remained slow and even.

Frustrated Natasha slapped her sleeping partner hard across the face – hard enough to send Barton's head tipping to the side.

"Clint, wake up!" She begged – finally she got a reaction, but Clint still didn't wake.

Squirming Barton moaned and gasped as his breathing picked up. "No," he mumbled, eyes screwed shut as if Hawkeye were in great pain. "I won't, there are – are children."

Eyes widening Natasha called his name again shaking her partner vigorously. "Wake up!" The thrashing continued for a few minutes only to taper down a bit as Clint whimpered in his sleep – trapped solidly in a nightmare Natasha couldn't place.

"I told you. I had – orders. Just following – orders."

After checking Clint's vitals one last time Natasha pulled out her secure Shield issued phone and punched in Coulson's number.

"I've located Hawkeye." The Widow greeted when her handler answered on his end. Natasha purposefully turned away from her partner and tuned out his soft ramblings. What memories haunted his dreams was none of her business – this wasn't the first time Clint had mumbled in his sleep.

"Condition?" Phil responded keeping his voice indifferent. Most people would believe the mask Coulson had thrown on, but Natasha could hear the stress behind the words with her trained ears.

"Unknown." The Russian admitted, glancing back Clint's pale struggling form. "He appears to be in some sort of deep sleep – I can't wake him."

"Has he reacted at all?" Phil inquired carefully.

"When I slapped him he started thrashing around – mumbling about this and that. He's dreaming – sounds more like a nightmare though." Natasha was careful to keep her tone as frustrated as usual – it was difficult with worry eating at her stone heart.

There was a short pause before Phil responded again. "You've slapped him – have you tried any other methods to wake him?" It was almost humorous how casual Coulson sounded. Like he was talking Natasha through starting her car engine or some other mundane thing.

"Shaking, yelling at him – the normal." Natasha responded with a joke in her voice, but it was obvious neither of them felt like laughing. "Maybe I should dump some water on him – "

"Use that only as a last resort." Coulson inserted quickly, though he didn't bother to add an explanation as to why. "Do you see any indication that he was drugged?"

Clint cried out behind Natasha winning back the Widow's attention. His eyes were still closed but his hands now gripped the bedding underneath him. "I won't-won't tell you anything." It sounded like the nightmare had changed – maybe to a time when Clint had been interrogated.

Her own mind flashed back to an interrogation room in Germany four years ago – Barton hadn't begged during that incident. What horrors were playing out in his mind now?

The Russian glanced around the room for the first time – it was as neatly kept as the first floor had been. There was a briefcase open on a table – files of notes neatly stacked away and out of sight in blue folders. A duffle bag containing the Hawk's belongings was settled beside the table on the floor. Everything was close together and ready for a quick evacuation if necessary without looking too suspicious.

Looking for any clues Natasha checked the half empty glass of water on the bedside table for any kind of residue and found none. As an after thought the Widow riffled through Clint's duffle bag to check the seal on the orange pill bottle he'd been issued. The pills were light sedatives the archer refused to take but was forced to carry around after a particularly trying mission that resulted in Hawkeye collapsing from extreme sleep deprivation.

The seal was unbroken – Clint hadn't taken any.

"No signs of entry or tampering." The Russian reported quickly after checking the locks on the window. Everything was secure.

"Stop!" Clint whimpered behind her, still fighting the shadows in his mind. "Please," the begging tone in her partner's voice made Natasha's stomach flip dangerously.

Phil was quiet for a few contemplative moments before speaking again. "I have a feeling that our Hawk was made – the target must have used her ability against him."

"The witch?" Natasha clarified skeptically. "From what Barton reported he believed she wasn't even practicing her dark magic anymore."

"Clearly the target is very good at not getting caught. Until given a reason to believe otherwise we're going to treat the situation as an act of magic. We need to figure out how to break the spell – if that is what's causing this deep sleep." Coulson sighed on his end of the line before continuing. "I'll call you back when I have more information to work with. Just try to snap Hawkeye out of it, try everything you can think of."

"Except for pouring water on his face?" Natasha asked, raising an eyebrow – curious of the response. The Russian was slightly disappointed when Coulson ignored her question and cut the connection.

With a light sigh Natasha closed her own phone and slipped it back in her purse – setting the bag on the table next to Clint's things. Turning back to her partner the Widow tipped her head to the side thoughtfully as she decided which actions to take next.

"Barton!" She yelled again – loud and sudden yet still no response.

Huffing with annoyance the Russian moved forward until she was standing next to her partner's bed looking down at him. It was dangerous to wake a Shield agent out of a deep sleep in hostile territory – suburbs can be hostile too. They tended to react violently and Clint was no exception – though it was rare for him to ever be in a deep sleep.

When they first shared a room together Natasha never realized how sensitive the Hawk's ears were since she had always been in stealth mode around him – silent and deadly. It took time but eventually Natasha dropped her guard enough to walk and act normally.

The first time she had witnessed Clint startle awake she barely registered what happened. One minute Natasha was throwing her file down on the table in front of her the next Clint was bolting upright on the bed with a wicked looking knife held out in front of him – eyes open and ready to face his attacker.

A small noise had created that reaction – Natasha knew the sound of her opening the front door of the house should have been enough to send Barton into a state of high alert.

Deciding to play things safe from here on out Natasha removed the hunting knife from under Clint's pillow and checked him for any other hidden weapons.

The process didn't wake her partner.

Glaring with renewed determination Natasha prepared herself for a fight when she did manage to wake Clint up. Carefully the Russian crawled onto the bed with Barton's eerily still and unconscious body. Straddling the Hawk she easily pinned down his arms with her hands and waited – no reaction.

"Barton!" She screamed directly into the man's ear – nothing.

Panic started surging within her again, what if she couldn't wake Clint? He looked terrible – pale and tense in his sleeping state. Natasha wouldn't admit to watching her partner sleep – but she did take notice on occasion how peaceful and young Barton appeared when he rested.

"Blood," Clint's voice sounded small to her ears and Natasha found herself searching the lines of his face for guidance. What new terror was he trapped in? Or was it all the same memory or fear on repeat? "C-can't stop, Nat – bleeding, so much b-blood."

Her heart stopped at the shortened version of her given name, had it just been a sound or was his nightmare about her?

Either way the protective side of the Widow came out fighting as Natasha cleared her tightening throat and spoke low into her sleeping partner's ear. "I'm going to kill this witch, Clint. I promise you. I'll rip her throat out with my bare hands." The threat fell on deaf ears as a tear leaked out of the Hawk's closed eye.

Coulson had told Natasha to try everything to wake their archer, but what was there left to try? She had yelled and screamed and slapped him – no reaction. She had held him down and unarmed him – nothing.

Here in front of her Clint was trapped in never ending sleep thanks to a witch – God it all sounded like some sort of twisted fairy tale.

That thought struck Natasha ironic. The little girl she had been sent to protect in China had been obsessed with a similar story. Except instead of a princess locked away in a castle tower Clint was trapped in his mind in the middle of suburbia, Illinois.

"A kiss broke the spell." Natasha remembered with a glare. Like that was helpful – a kiss in real life was simply that. A kiss. A helpful, but meaningless tool of manipulation used to get results.

A kiss meant nothing to the Black Widow – nothing at all.

And yet Coulson requested she try everything.

With a long-suffering sigh Natasha leaned forward – Barton still pinned firmly underneath her – and pressed her mouth against her partner's water deprived lips.

The kiss was passionless – the Widow was only trying to save her Hawk's life. The act was as innocent and necessary as giving someone without breath mouth to mouth.

As Natasha pulled back she let out a soft sigh in acceptance – as predicted the gesture hadn't worked. Perhaps it was for the best anyway – how would she have explained the situation to her partner if he had woken at that moment?

Just when Natasha freed his arms Clint's silver fogged eyes flew open – sharp only with panic and fear.

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_So I might have been lying when I said there were only three parts to chapter three, the third section is becoming very long…I'm debating breaking it in half so I can update faster. The last section is no where near completed. It's maybe half way done and it's already at 3000 words ^^; AND I haven't started editing and refining it…_

_So it's up to you guys. Do you mind waiting for the full thing or do you want me to split it up and hopefully get something out to you sooner rather then later? _

_Let me know if you have an opinion! Thanks so much for reading! _

_I hope you guys are still into this story ^^ _

_I love to hear from happy readers! _


	5. Chapter 3 part 3

_Warnings: mentions of child abuse and a minor character death. _

_Also this is a bit of an origin's chapter for Clint – I am not an expert. I have read a bit on Wiki about Clint's past but some of this part is very made up. I hope you enjoy ^^ _

_You guys are so amazing with your reviews; your words really make my day! Sometimes I get really nervous when I'm about to post a new section and the reviews I've been getting are so worth every second of writing! Thanks so much to everyone who takes the time! _

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Chapter 3 Part 3/4

Clint was at war with all the demons in his head. Trapped in memories playing on a movie reel behind his closed eyes – a motion picture that filtered through and lingered on the most painful moments of his life.

It started with Barton's earliest memories of being terrified. The various times Clint's parents used the young Barton brothers as their source of stress relief – two personal and resilient punching bags.

The motion picture zoomed in on the first time Clint had to deal with his father's anger alone. The memory played out clearly – as if the sights, smells and sounds were being experienced for the first time.

Feelings of loneliness and impending doom had settled deep within young Clint's heart when his older brother had left for summer camp one year. Clint had been too young to join Barney – leaving the youngest Barton brother to stand alone to face the war at home.

Clint's father had always been a ticking time bomb – especially when alcohol was added to the equation. Not that excessive drinking was a necessary excuse for the man to beat his boys.

Their mother was less about the physical punishment and more about the psychological. No praises were ever given – only orders and berating lectures that were as harsh as they were heartless. When their mother did strike at the brothers it typically was in the form of a stinging slap – simple yet effective.

Walking through the house was like walking through a minefield – Clint and Barney never knew what actions would set off an explosive response from either their father or their mother.

In Clint's mind the musty scent of his childhood home was so real that the fear echoing within his young heart in the past enveloped him once again. Here in this place there was no Shield, Clint wasn't a highly trained and capable assassin with people he could trust to protect him. No, in this place Clint was a scared six-year-old boy with no hope of someone coming to his rescue.

Young Clint hid himself away in the guest bedroom's closet behind the vacuum cleaner. Hoping that if he kept his eyes closed hard enough his father wouldn't be able to find him.

The muffled voices of his father and mother arguing in the kitchen drifted down the hallways and through the walls into Clint's dark hiding place.

The floorboards creaked and shook as Clint's father stomped down the hallway looking for something to release his drunken anger upon. To a young child the man sounded like a monster armed with rows of large dripping fangs or some sort of life threatening natural disaster bent on destroying every living thing in it's path. His father was too big, too powerful – there was no way someone as small and helpless as Clint could fight against something like that.

Trembling with fear Clint hugged his knees tighter, closed eyes twitching with the concentration of becoming invisible. Unfortunately Clint had been born painfully human – no superpowers to assist and protect him from the dangers of the world. The closet door slammed open and his father pulled Clint out into the open.

"_No son of mine hides in the dark_." His father slurred, alcohol stained breath making Clint's stomach turn.

That was the first time Clint tried to hide from his father that long summer but not the last. When his father always found him without fail – no matter where Clint hid – the little Hawk had learned to open his eyes and ears up to the world around him. Teaching himself to anticipate the direction his father's loud footsteps and how to react quickly and silently to avoid another confrontation. Moving from hiding place to hiding place quietly Clint only had to hold out until his father gave up, calmed down or passed out from the alcohol he'd consumed.

When the movie ran out of memories of Clint being afraid of his father the scene faded out and changed into another dreaded memory.

"_There is no easy way to tell you this_," The tall man in the grey suit said looking down at Clint and his brother Barney_. "Your parents are dead. They died in a car accident early this morning – "_

Those words had shattered Clint's fragile young world. It wasn't that his parents were dead – it wasn't like they had ever showed love to their sons. In the chaos and fear there still had been a sense of identity and home for the Barton brothers. Their world had been terrible but it was all they knew. They were familiar with their home and had possessions and friends outside of the hell they lived in.

Now everything Clint knew in life was gone – taken away from him. Everything except his brave older brother who had been quick to promise, "_As long as we're together we'll be fine_."

The bank had taken away everything the two brothers' had owned and sent them off to the closest orphanage – which as it turned out was two counties away. There had been no family to take them in – no words of comfort after their loss. The people running the orphanage were drunk ninety-percent of the time and were almost worse than the Barton boy's dead father – luckily in the orphanage there were more targets and more places to hide.

The next scenes that played out for Clint were the darker highlights of his time in the orphanage. The older boys frequently decided to haze young Clint simply because they could. Even as a child Clint had been small for his age – his stature was considered a weakness and painted him as a target.

Barney quickly forgot his promise to his younger brother and vanished at the orphanage – Clint learned to fight alone. No one else was going to save the youngest Barton from the mob of bullies – Clint had to save himself.

Later when Barney suggested they run away to the circus Clint had thought things would turn around – things didn't. Shortly after their arrival at the strange new place Clint had captured the attention of the circus's two star attractions and his training began. Clint had thought that his success would please Barney – instead it pushed his brother away. Sparking jealousy and resentment into his older brother's heart.

Clint did have one friend close to his age at the circus. A young dancer named Suzie Hart. She was breathtaking when she moved – pure grace and emotion. Under certain lights her red hair transformed into an almost bright orange color and her porcelain skin was flawless shimmering with stage glitter under the circus's tent lights.

Clint had always imagined Natasha looked similar when she was younger. Barton's memories of Suzie may have also played a role in why the Hawk spared the Widow's life – though he'd take that secret to the grave.

In many ways Suzie was very similar to Natasha – both were fiery, passionate and elegant. Suzie couldn't harm a fly, though. Her heart was gentle – too fragile and soft. A year after Clint joined the circus his closest friend in the world was diagnosed with leukemia and Barton was forced to watch Suzie disappear right before his eyes.

Without money or health insurance Suzie had no chance of survival. All the small girl had was the promise of a slow, painful death.

In Clint's mind reliving his memories of her was killing him.

Suzie was the one who helped Clint pick out his stage name. One day the pair of them ran away from the circus out into a field. They stared up at the sky and talked about their dreams. Both wanted a family – like the ones that came to watch them perform.

"_I want to live by the ocean_." Suzie smiled brightly, her face was too pale but she remained was as radiant as ever. "_I'd take walks on the beach every morning and night_ – _dance in the water_." Her eyes turned away from Clint's shyly. "_And not be tired all the time_." The cancer was eating away at everything Suzie was – the walk to the field had all but exhausted her.

"_I want a house with lots of windows and a dog_." Clint smiled drawing her gaze back to him. "_Somewhere nice, you know_? _Maybe Monterey, they have beaches there._"

Suzie smiled thoughtfully as they looked up at the grey tinted clouds in the sky and fell into a compatible silence. They both were aware their dreams were unachievable. Fourteen-years-old and Suzie was dying – there was no future for her. Clint had no hope of getting a respectable job outside the circus. No education to speak of – the world would eat him alive if he were to leave.

"_The Swordsman asked you to pick a name, right_?" Suzie asked suddenly, turning onto her stomach to watch Clint.

Smirking a bit Clint nodded, "_Yep_."

"_Well_," Suzie smiled brightly, drawing out the word playfully. "_What have you come up with so far_?"

Laughing Clint shook his head looking back up at the sky. "_Uh_, _Trick Shot_?"

Suzie giggled with him lightly. "_Sorry to be the one to break this too you, but Trick Shot is taken. Anything more original_?"

"_Cupid_?" Clint joked.

"_Seriously_? _Come on, Clint_. _You have to be more artistic than that!_" Suzie teased.

Shaking his head Clint shrugged, propping himself up on his elbows as their conversation continued. "_I'm not the most creative person_." He admitted lightly. "_Maybe you should help me out._"

"_Sure,_" Suzie smirked softly back at her friend. "_I'm always up for helping the helpless._" The dancer's green gaze became thoughtful._ "It should be something that fits all your skills. You're an archer, an acrobat and a daredevil. You shoot with a bow and arrows, which is a timeless hunter's weapon." _Smiling brightly she leaned closer to the youngest Barton and smiled. "_You've had the weirdest obsession with heights_ _ever since Terri taught you how to walk the tight rope and Kyle and Jenna promised to teach you their swinging acrobatic routine._ _I swear you were a bird in another life!_"

Clint joined her laughter and smiled mischievously. "_You still haven't found me a name." _

"_Actually, I have._" Suzie smiled pointing up into the sky above them. "_You have the same characteristics as that hawk up there, Clint – a hunter, acrobat, daredevil. A hawk knows no fear and loves to fly at incredible heights. Thus, I name you Hawk._" As soon as the words were spoken Suzie shook her head and gave a serious frown. "_No wait, that's not enough. Your animal self is a hawk, but you need a bit of 'regular you' in the title._" She stared deeply into Clint's eyes and her smile glowed again. "_You're eyes, it's perfect! After all it is your vision that gives you that awesome aim!_"

"_What's perfect_?" Clint laughed, enjoying the dancer's sudden enthusiasm.

"_Hawkeye._"

"_Hawkeye,_" Clint echoed, a smile curling on his lips as he soaked in the name. He liked it. "_It is perfect_."

They spent the rest of the day together in that field and by the time they returned Suzie was too tired to stand – Clint happily carried her back to the circus.

Within the week the cancer took the dancer away from her Hawk. Clint hoped Suzie got her house on a beach somewhere beyond the clouds – that one of them could find happiness.

"_You missed the target." _The Swordsman accused coming up behind his new apprentice. Trick Shot had been teaching young Clint how to use his weapon of choice_. _Out of the two circus stars Trick Shot was the kinder role model. Always offering some sort of praise and giving kind critiques to help improve Hawkeye's skill level.

The Swordsman was incredibly focused on perfection right from the start of Clint's training. Posture, presentation, and appearance – everything had to be exact.

"_I hit the center circle_._"_ Clint defended himself, confusion lacing his voice at the cold tone of his master as he looked at the arrow just a few inches left off center_. _

"_You didn't hit the target dead center. In our line of work everything is about perfection, kid_. _The circus is an illusion, a place where ordinary people can pay to witness the surreal as reality. A place where a fifteen-year-old with a bow and arrows never misses his target – no matter how impossible the shot should be._" The Swordsman's voice turned threatening_. "Perhaps you need the proper motivation to reach that level." _The older man's eyes narrowed as he took the bow from Clint's hands and stripped the quiver from his back._ "Every time you miss your target you will spar with me – starting now."_

Clint quickly learned that 'sparing' with the Swordsman really meant the older man kicking his apprentice's ass. The Swordsman was teaching Clint though – the young Hawk quickly learned to defend himself to avoid brutal public beatings. When hand to hand was mastered swords were introduced as punishment next. Barton's body would forever be lined with thin white scars from the Swordsman's weapon of choice.

Clint learned never to miss – no matter the difficulty level of the shot.

The Swordsman's techniques of training were effective but cruel. His last lesson to young Hawkeye was one of frail loyalty. Leaving Clint betrayed and beaten – left for dead after Hawkeye had threatened to turn the older man in for stealing.

"_We could have been great together, you and I." _The Swordsman had said just before leaving Clint to die – broken and bloody in the center of the main tent's floor. "_Your heart is strong – I will give you that, but your heart will always fail you in the end._"

Shortly after the Swordsman, both Barney and Trick Shot left Clint as well – each betrayal and abandonment harder to deal with than the last.

Clint's life kept falling apart, leaving him alone with the task of gluing the fragile pieces back together into something that could be considered whole. For years Clint found himself separated from the world wondering what exactly was wrong with him that drove people away.

The movie in his mind showed a self-loathing Clint eventually decide to join the army as a sniper hoping to find his place – a purpose.

During that time Barton relived every bloody mission he had ever regretted. Seeing the faces of children who died caught in his crossfire the people he had assassinated that were later revealed as innocent – the darkest memories Clint had buried deep resurfaced like ghosts to haunt him.

Interlaced with the stories of his regret were those of the time he spent being tortured. Working for the army as well as Shield he had become scarily familiar with the concept. The odd thing was how so many evil sons of bitches enjoyed cutting him up and causing him indescribable pain.

Everything faded in and out from scene to bloody scene. The hurt, the regret, the loss all dug deep into Barton's soul like barbed wire was wrapped around the Hawk's heart as he lay there helpless to stop it. Vaguely Clint could make out a voice laughing in the background of his sad past – the voice dark, chilling and unfamiliar.

The movie conveniently skipped the parts in Clint's life that could be considered happy. Coulson taking him under his wing at Shield and slowly working to mend the Hawk's bleeding soul. The man was steadfast and strong – the most loyal person Clint had met in his life. Coulson could be trusted and after a long time of being skeptical Clint had believed it.

Even outside of missions Coulson invited Clint into his family – taking the lonely archer home for holidays. It was the first time in Clint's life that he didn't find himself wanting to run away. With Shield Hawkeye had found his purpose – his family.

But those memories weren't in this place – here there was only blood, fear, pain and regret.

In the middle of re-watching a mission where Natasha had nearly died because of a stupid mistake he'd made Barton's eyes shot open as a strangled cry escaped him.

Everything in sight was filtered in silver – images of his past and present were sandwiched together leaving Hawkeye disoriented and terrified.

Slender fingers were secured on his arms pinning him where he lay – the enemy was straddling his chest keeping him in place. Clint couldn't make out a face. Barton couldn't sense a weapon but the threat was obvious. Hawkeye's blurred vision refused to focus completely on the situation around him sending the Shield agent into panicked action.

Pushing up Clint twisted to dislodge his captor from his body and blindly fought his assailant through the haze of silver imagery. One moment Barton would see light and what looked like a bedroom and the next the over powering night scene would play out – all Clint could focus on was the bright blood against his partner's pale skin.

As quickly as the fight began Barton found his strength was gone. As soon as Clint was standing the archer's legs buckled from underneath him sending him to the ground in a sweaty heap.

A sob left Clint as he stared down at his shaky hands still seeing the dripping red blood from his dreams.

"Barton!" A familiar voice snapped – but she was supposed to be dying.

The world around Clint faded out of a silver haze and back into normal clarity slowly – a bedroom and Natasha. "I don't understand." His gravely whisper was strangled as it escaped his dry unused throat. Just when he thought he was free Barton's breath hitched as he was hit with another wave of terrifying waking images.

"Clint?" A soft hand touched the Hawk's face causing him to shy away from the contact at first. The scared tone in her voice pulled Clint completely back to reality. Looking at his partner on one knee in front of him, Clint tried to regain control of his ragged breathing.

"Tasha?" He questioned weakly, eyes squinting at her once more. They fell into silence as Clint scanned his partner signs of injury.

Despite the odd look of panic behind the redhead's eyes Natasha looked fine – maybe a little pale, but fine. No bullet wound gushing blood. Clint stared into Natasha's wide eyes – her gaze never leaving his. The Hawk found it odd even in the sleep muddled mind but let it drop to the back of his thoughts. There were too many other questions worth asking – like what the hell was going on.

When the archer was finally able to grasp calm again he stared at his partner in complete confusion – his back resting lightly against the side of the bed. "What happened?" Barton finally asked, pleased that his voice was a bit stronger.

With a slight nod Natasha pulled away, giving Clint much desired space. "You missed your check in with Coulson. What do you remember?"

_Check in_? Barton thought, _what mission am I supposed to be on_? Taking a moment to search his shattered memories Clint was able to pull up fragments of relevant events. The process took more time than was comfortable for either Natasha or himself.

"I was sent to assess a possible threat." He muttered finally, more to himself than his partner. The vague details Clint offered up did nothing to relieve the tension in Natasha's muscles – he had worried her for some reason.

"I was following the target – a witch, I believe – at least a week's worth of surveillance. I don't remember anything else. I don't remember many details." Clint shook his head and looked at Natasha then around the room. It was the place he had been assigned as a safe house. Apparently he was still on that assignment. "How long have I been out of contact?"

"About forty-eight hours." The Widow responded immediately.

Barton blinked. "What?" He sat up straighter, the building adrenaline trying to push away his bone deep exhaustion.

"It took me a day to get here. I thought I would have to search for your body." Natasha admitted with no noticeable emotion in her trained voice. Clint could see it in her eyes though – the situation bothered her.

"When I saw you in bed sleeping I was furious, but – " Her normally edgy voice became a bit softer as her eyes dropped and she continued. "When I couldn't wake you – "

Clint soaked in the information. He remembered the woman he had been following was rumored to be a witch of sorts with an excess of power. "I was under a spell?" The Hawk questioned.

"That would be my guess." Natasha agreed. "You don't look so good." She added showing only a hint of concern.

"Don't feel so good, either." Barton winced and rubbed at his aching jaw. "Why does my face hurt?" Perhaps his partner had all the answers.

"That would be because I slapped you." The Widow deadpanned. Suddenly her eyes shied away from his watching gaze. "Hard."

"Hell of a way to wake a man up." Clint pouted playfully, flexing his jaw a bit to test the pull of pain. It would bruise spectacularly but Clint didn't think anything was out of place.

Natasha shrugged and stood at his comment but did not answer as she turned away. Was it Clint's imagination or was Nat blushing? His partner had turned too quickly for Barton to be sure.

"That _is_ how you broke the spell, right?" Clint questioned curiously. The answer he received was a rather pointed glare so Barton dropped the subject – he was too tired to push. Hawkeye would file the question away to play with later.

Leaning his head back against the bed Clint groaned unhappily. He felt like road kill – the agent's only desire was to curl back onto the bed and give into the soft beckoning of sleep. "I was stuck in this terrible dream." His eyes slowly fell shut only to snap open when Natasha's open palm smacked him upside the head.

"I caught that." The Widow hissed. "No more sleeping – not until we catch this bitch." The anger was a sign of the Russian being focused. Deadly focused. Good news for Clint, bad news for the enemy.

With a small nod Clint struggled his way to his feet. "Coffee." He muttered but stopped with frown running a hand through his sweat soaked hair. "Wait." Barton glanced at the grease on his hand and wrinkled his nose. "Shower first and then coffee."

"Please." Natasha smirked.

Leaving his partner to look over his notes Clint stumbled his way down the hall to the small bathroom – his body still begging for sleep.

Peeling off sweat soaked clothing Clint leaned against the counter and stared at his reflection. His tri-colored eyes stared back at him hooded in dark purple smudges. Barton glared at how pale and pathetic he looked and pushed away.

In the shower with water running over his too tight muscles Barton tried to clear his head and rearrange his scattered thoughts.

According to Natasha he'd been sleeping for two days – how could he still be so tired? It probably had something to do with the nightmares he had relived – a shudder ran through him as faces resurfaced from his memories. Quickly Hawkeye shoved the memories back into the darkest corners of his mind. Maybe there was more to whatever it was the witch had done to the archer. Perhaps Clint was never supposed to wake up – that of course begged the question of how Natasha was able to break the spell.

Shaking the unanswered questions from his head Barton scrubbed away the dried sweat from his body and washed his hair – lingering under the hot spray a bit longer before he shut the water off and grabbed a towel.

Once Clint was dry and dressed in fresh clothes the agent felt more like a human being and less like something splattered on the side of the road.

"Coffee?" Clint questioned as he rejoined his partner in his temporary bedroom.

"Waiting for you." Natasha answered, pointing in the general direction of the kitchen without looking up from his notes.

Using the familiar scent as a guide Clint located the machine downstairs in the kitchen and poured himself a steaming mug.

"I talked to Coulson while you were in the shower." Natasha announced when Clint joined her again. "We have permission to eliminate the target if necessary."

"After – I'm just assuming here – all other options have been played out." Barton shot back at his partner playfully. The Widow glared but didn't dispute her partner's words – signifying the truth. "Don't worry, Nat. One way or another Roisin May will be brought to justice." Clint promised Natasha as he joined her at the table and glanced over the notes written in his handwriting.

The mission was slowly coming back to him, but the gaps were frightening.

Natasha watched him reading carefully and frowned. "How much have you forgotten?" She questioned.

"Enough." Clint winced in response, avoiding her dark gaze.

They studied the enemy in silence for the next few hours.

"When she did find out?" Natasha's glare startled Clint out of his own thoughts.

"What?" Barton questioned at first, but quickly realized what exactly she was asking. "I'm not sure. I kept my distance, barely even talked to her."

"Can you remember the last thing you did before you fell asleep?" Natasha pressed slapping down the pile of notes she had been scanning for answers.

Falling silent the Hawk contemplated the question carefully. Though bits and pieces of memories were coming back they were all jumbled and hazy. "No, but I know what I would have done. I would have bugged the house."

"I know you Clint – you would have been careful." Natasha added on his behalf. "So what the hell did you do to get caught?"

_So much for her being supportive_, Clint winced.

Feeling frustrated from the lack of answers Barton stood and shook his head, "I wouldn't have gotten caught. This was a milk run assignment." The Hawk sighed dramatically before turning away. "We'll just have to ask Roisin when we bring her into Shield."

"We might not get a chance." Natasha hissed, standing as well. "If she attacks us again she's dead." The threat was real – if given a chance the Black Widow would slay her victim without remorse or hesitation.

Clint sighed but nodded needlessly. He'd do everything he could to bring the target in alive – it was his job. Fighting with Natasha would get him no where and the archer was spent on energy – there was none left to argue with.

If they waited any longer Clint knew he'd be useless with exhaustion.

"Okay, let's take her down tonight."

* * *

_The last part of this story arc is coming, but it may take a few days. I hope the length of this chapter as well as the lack of a mean cliff-hanger will make up for the wait ^^_

_Reviews are loved! _

_Oh, since the review count is in the nineties (thanks so much!) and to keep up with tradition the one-hundredth reviewer for this story will receive a 'prize' of sorts. They can prompt me to write a story for them or something else of their choosing. If you are reviewer one hundred I will send you a message asking what you would like – so think of all the possibilities! ^^_

_Thanks so much for reading! _


	6. Chapter 3 part 4

_Finally we have arrived at the last chapter of this arch. I'm excited! Are you excited! _

_Thanks so much for everyone's continuing support! _

* * *

Chapter 3 Part 4/4

The neighborhood slept with the curtains drawn unaware of the killers lurking in the dark. The crescent moon hung high in the sky barely lighting the street as the two master assassins moved like shadows towards their target.

The plan was a simple one – once the alarm system was disabled Natasha would go in through the front door, Barton from the back. Together the Shield agents would sweep the house, corner the subject and use necessary precautions to capture and bring Roisin May in. Armed with their weapons of choice the two Shield agents would subdue their target – one way or the other.

Clint was well aware that if he did not find Roisin first the witch would be dead before he could rejoin his partner. The Black Widow was out for blood.

Hawkeye snickered a bit as he cut the wirers to the alarm system – when was the famous Black Widow not out for blood? This time was different though – personal. Someone had targeted the Widow's partner and apparently that was something the bad guys just shouldn't mess with. Clint didn't know if he should be flattered or something else – he could, most days, take care of himself.

So a little magic got the better of the great Hawkeye – whatever.

Thanks to the geniuses in the tech department the comm. system Natasha had acquired before she left to find her partner was inoperable. The high tech Stark battery it required had not been included – apparently someone couldn't think straight when rushed. That same somebody probably would lose his or her job. Clint couldn't find it in his heart to feel sorry for the idiot.

Thankfully – if you're an optimist – Clint and Natasha had been in this position before. Improvising was something Clint had always excelled at. The hawk suggested texting on vibrate to stay in contact – Natasha agreed.

_Alarm down, moving into position_. Clint punched the words into his Shield issued phone as he slipped around the side of the house – avoiding windows and sticking close to the shadows. Roisin was in there – they'd seen her arrive after work.

When he arrived at his door Clint sent a second message: _On the hour we go in_.

_Copy_. The Widow responded.

Two minutes until it was one in the morning and all Hawkeye wanted to do was sleep – he hoped this didn't take long. Although Clint rarely got what he wished for in life.

In a blink of the eye those two minutes were up and the hawk had picked his lock. With a twist of the brass doorknob Clint stepped inside the house – only it wasn't a house at all. Clint stepped into a forest – not just any kind of forest, Clint had seen these trees before. It looked exactly like the redwood forest in California.

When he was young Clint had slipped away from the circus and found himself lost in a redwood forest. He hadn't panicked back then the woods had felt right – safe. Like a home the hawk had never known.

This place was different – unnatural. Unsafe.

"The hell," Clint whispered to himself, loosing an arrow as he circled around. The door vanished as soon as it clicked closed behind him – Hawkeye was trapped.

Birds called out songs high above him in the canopy. Beams of golden sunlight broke through the thick green lace up high spearing down to the ground covered with red sticks and green ferns. The dense blue-green mist hovered above the ground as Barton stepped further into the illusion chilling him. The entire scene had to be a trick of the eye, but everything felt and sounded so real.

The dreams had too – though.

"Why do I feel like I just fell down a rabbit hole?" Hawkeye muttered to himself after sweeping around in a circle. It appeared as if Clint was alone in this place, but the archer felt eyes watching him.

Carefully Clint reached down and pulled out his phone and glanced at the screen – it was dead. "Damn technology." Hawkeye cursed – the battery had been fully charged before entering this place. For all Barton knew his phone being dead was all part of the illusion.

The birds stopped singing.

"Do you like this place, Clint Barton?" A female voice echoed around him, bouncing off the red bark, floating around the large trees and singing softly into the archer's ears like a whisper. The sound was everywhere and nowhere all at the same time.

"Roisin?" Hawkeye called out the witch's name, bow back up and ready to fire if given the sight of his enemy. "Drop this illusion, I only want to talk with you." Clint kept his voice light and amused knowing well the seriousness of this situation. The hawk was at a severe disadvantage unable to trust his eyes.

A chilling laugh followed his request. "But this illusion was created especially for you – don't you find this place peaceful?"

"The first word that came to mind was odd – the second was freaky, not peaceful." Clint scanned for the source of her voice, where was she hiding?

Roisin snorted. "You have no appreciation for beauty, Mr. Barton." Her laugh was familiar – where had he heard it from before?

"You were in my mind." Clint realized slowly. "You were watching my memories." He had thought she had just trapped him in his mind to relive those things, but now Barton realized she had been with him. Maybe not the whole time, but Hawkeye had felt her there with him.

"Yes," Roisin's voice flowed around him like cold liquid and smooth silver. "Your mind is such a beautiful thing. Filled with everything I dream about – everything I desire." The witch's voice was calming in a way, calling to Hawkeye with an allure that was all together creepy. "The fear, pain and regret you have known, all those pesky little emotions – so _delectable_." The last word echoed in the thickening mist around Clint as if Roisin saying it once wasn't eerie enough.

The assassin took in the information carefully trying to figure out a way to use it to his advantage. "Where's my partner?" He demanded, not willing to start shooting arrows until he knew the Black Widow was out of the line of fire.

"Oh, I've created a less pleasant world for her to be lost in – while the two of us chat." Roisin's voice answered from the circling mist. There was no certain direction to the sound – it surrounded the tense archer completely like a net.

Still not ready to give up on the 'less violent' option Clint tried one more time. "If you want to talk we can do it somewhere comfortable – safe. Let me take you to the people I work for. They can help you – "

"I highly doubt Shield would want to help me, especially when I tell you what keeps me alive." Roisin's voice overpowers his.

Clint really hated dancing around a subject. "Alright, lets talk. What's on your mind?"

The witch grew silent for a moment – it didn't last long. "You broke out of my first spell, I'm curious, was it your little redheaded friend that freed you? Where did she come across the cure?"

"The Black Widow? She just enjoys hitting me in the head." Barton played off with a smirk, trying to find any sign of the witch in the mist. The archer needed something solid to aim at – when the time came. The witch had told him Natasha was in her own illusion – that didn't mean she wasn't wondering around just out the Hawk's sight.

Cold laughter floated around Clint, sending shivers down his spine.

"You really believe that's what freed you? Poor fool." Roisin teased. "Something as boorish as a hit to the head wouldn't have freed you from one of my elegant spells." The mocking laughter continued – though it was starting to lose its chilling effect. Clint was finding it annoying.

"Okay, so her punching me didn't wake me up." Hawkeye interrupted the witch's chortling fit. "Why don't you clue me into the real story."

Finally Roisin spoke again. "Let's just say something more delicate was involved and leave it at that."

Groaning overdramatically Barton rolled his eyes up to the quiet canopy above him. "Will I ever learn what really happened?" He glared at nothing, dropping all emotion from his face as the hawk relaxed his stance fractionally. "Can we get back onto the subject of what we're doing here? What do you want, other then to talk me to death."

Roisin's hummed a humorless tune before answering. "I want to offer you a deal."

"Deals with devils never end in happily ever afters." Barton tensed again – what could she possible want from him that she couldn't simply take?

"You consider me a devil?" Roisin didn't sound hurt at his accusation, maybe amused.

Clint sighed. "I consider you a threat – stop going off topic. What the hell do you want from me?"

"Your tortured mind, your broken emotions, your darkest memories." Roisin suddenly appeared in front of Clint as his weapons vanished from sight – Hawkeye couldn't even feel them in his hand once they were gone. With a quick glance down Clint found his other weapons missing as well – his knives and handgun gone.

"The hell?" Hawkeye muttered staring at his empty hands and back at his enemy.

Roisin May appeared to be a beautiful young human. Long spiral curled brown locks cascaded around her shoulders and hung down to the small of her back – not a strand was out of place. The only thing that made the girl seem supernatural was the silver glowing in her naturally brown eyes.

Clint glared but remained stubbornly silent – he knew he was screwed.

"You're wondering why I don't just take it – like before."

"Thought crossed my mind." Clint humored her, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. Vaguely he wondered if they were even in the witch's house or if she had actually transported them away. If they were really in California Hawkeye realized he might be on his own – God he wished Natasha were here with him. At least then he would know if she was safe or not.

"I didn't trap you the first time, you did that all on your own. Security measures I set up – if anyone enters my domain uninvited they are marked by the nightmare spell. It creates a link between the victim and myself. It allows me to enter their mind and feed off of their strongest emotions."

Clint made a face of disgust. "That's vaguely creepy. Well, less vaguely and more – "

"I'm glad you were stupid enough to trip the spell," Roisin continued, un-phased by the archer's interruption. "I would have never known how wonderful you taste."

"Creepy, just plain creepy." Hawkeye glared with a disapproving shake of his head.

Roisin either pretended not to hear him or didn't mind his interruptions. "My deal is if you give me your bad memories I will replace them with the life you have always wanted."

"What?" Whatever Clint had been expecting the witch to offer that was far from it.

"I will give you what you've always dreamed about. A life without the pain, fear and regret you have always been burdened with. White picket fences, a house on the beach, a dog and Suzie Hart – anything you have ever wanted can finally be yours."

Clint had to look away, his heart leaped at the idea – but it was all a lie. It had to be a lie.

"Nothing comes without a price." Hawkeye answered her.

No one could live without pain or regret – it was all part of being human.

"You are right, of course." Roisin agreed openly her voice strangely understanding. As if she were a teacher and he was her stubborn student. "The consciousness that makes you who you are will take up a small part of your mind – the rest, all your past memories and body will all belong to me to do with as I please."

"Again – creepy." Hawkeye snapped ready to refuse.

"Not as creepy as it sounds, I promise you." Roisin smiled at his comment brightly. "I will feed off of your past while you enjoy the life you deserved. I will take care of your body – keep you alive. For all intensive purposes you will be in a coma in this world but safe in your own."

"How long would I live in that state?" Clint asked, curious. In all honesty her offer was tempting. Before Shield Clint probably would have taken it in a heartbeat – damn the consequences. Anything to be free from the cruel world he was stuck in.

"A very long time – longer than you would have without my intervention. As long as I live, you will be alive." Roisin smiled, reaching out a hand to him – Clint didn't pull back. "I can take away your burdens – I can free your mind."

Suzie appeared out of the mist joining them in the forest, smiling at her long lost best friend shyly. "We could have a life together, Clint. The one stolen from us." She glanced at Roisin and stepped closer to them – to Clint. Suzie looked so real. "We can live on the beach in Monterey, get a dog – start a family. I could be a professional dancer and you, you could be anything you want to be."

Her voice was so sweet, light, just as Clint remembered – his one and only friend before Coulson. And Natasha.

Hawkeye shook his head taking a step back. "She's not real."

"Yes she is – she's as real as your memory of her." Roisin smiled kindly – treating Clint as if he were a child. "Suzie, show him how real you are."

With an eager smile the dancer stepped forward and boldly took hold of Clint's hand.

She felt solid – she felt so real.

"What would I have to do?" Clint found himself asking, staring into his first love's eyes.

He could hear the smile in her voice as the witch spoke. "Cut your ties to Shield – make it so no one will come looking for you once you are gone. We'll hide away, you and I. You'll be free to live your life and I will be free to live mine. It's a win, win situation."

Clint remained silent as he stared into Suzie's beautiful eyes – she looked so hopeful, so alive. Just like that day outside the circus in the middle of that field when the two of them shared their dreams. How could Clint allow her to die again? How could he give her up a second time?

"How do I know if you will keep your word?" Hawkeye looked up from Suzie's face finally, staring into the witch's silver glowing eyes. "For all I know you could simply trap me in new round of terrors and I'll have no defense against you. I'll live forever, sure, but I'll suffer over and over again. What kind of life would that be? How would it be any different than what I have now?"

It was hard and Clint hesitated, but he dropped Suzie's hand. _She is only an illusion_, Hawkeye told himself as he closed his eyes – shielding his mind from Suzie's hurt expression.

"I suppose you do have a point." Roisin sighed lightly. "I guess I should have known you wouldn't be so easy to convince. Oh well. Plan B."

Clint's eyes flew open as the archer tried to pull together what exactly the witch meant only to be distracted by something solid tackling him from behind.

Instinct reacted within Hawkeye as he twisted to face his attacker – grabbing her arm before the silver knife could slit the flesh of his throat. An inhuman scream followed – something animalistic mixed with out-right anger and pure misery.

"Nat?" Clint gasped, shocked that his partner's vicious fury and grief was directed towards him. "Black Widow, what are you doing?" Hawkeye recovered quickly, switching back to their code names. Not that it mattered – the witch had been inside his mind, Roisin knew their real names. The bitch knew everything.

Natasha used more force this time as she stabbed the knife down towards her partner's throat yelling out a string of Russian curses. Clint's arms shook from strain but held off the killing blow – sending the Widow's aim off enough that the knife glided down the archer's cheek and embedded itself deep into the ground with only a scratch to show for damage.

"Nat, God damn it, it's me!"

A laugh sang out to them, Roisin clearly was enjoying the show a safe distance away. "I would try and fight back, Agent Barton. The famous Black Widow is out for your blood."

Glaring Clint realized he would have to fight his partner – if only to survive long enough to figure out a way to kill the witch before any real damage could be done.

Okay, new plan of action: first – subdue the Widow.

With a frustrated growl Barton started to fight on the offense, flipping Natasha over so her back was on the ground and he was straddling her small body.

She screamed again – he hated that sound.

It was like someone was scratching sharp things against a blackboard while a very angry dying tiger was forced into a corner. In all their years together working as partners Hawkeye had never heard his Widow make that terrible sound.

"Nat!" Clint yelled down at the rabid Russian, but his voice fell on her deaf ears. Barton had no idea who she was seeing but clearly Natasha felt strongly about seeing him dead.

After Hawkeye managed to knock the knife from the Widow's grasp he focused on pinning the deadly woman down. Natasha wasn't about to go down without a fight – the spy twisted like a contortionist and kicked Barton solidly in the chest sending him backwards through the air.

The Widow left no time for Hawkeye to recover – Natasha never waited, not even when the partners sparred together safely in one of Shield's training facilities. In a way the brutal training style prepared them for situations like this – situations where they could be used against one another.

Before Clint successfully returned to his feet Natasha was on him again. Two cross punches – both barely dodged – followed by a roundhouse kick that struck Hawkeye on the right side. Barton grunted but didn't allow himself to falter.

The hawk's eyes narrowed and the real fight began. It was like a deadly dance. If one of them were to blink they'd miss half of the steps and lose the rhythm – they'd die.

Primarily Hawkeye stayed on the defensive. Mostly because he didn't want to harm his crazed partner but also because he was using half of his mind fighting and the rest trying to come up with some sort of solution for all of this. Clint would have some nasty bruises if they survived this mission.

Natasha was enraged, unhelpful and trying to kill him.

The source of the trouble was a witch laughing from the sidelines.

Hawkeye needed to take out Roisin – now if only Natasha would let him breathe. If Clint could get a second to act freely he might be able to end this.

A fist narrowly missed slamming into Clint's face thanks to the archer's distracted thoughts – he wasn't going to get his moment to act. Grunting Barton realized he would have to make a pretty severe sacrifice in order to take out the witch – Hawkeye could only hope the Widow wouldn't use the opening to kill him.

She swung an elbow into Clint's upper chest knocking him back a step. "Glad you're normally on my side." He rubbed the spot with a wince, dancing back a few paces to give himself room. Natasha followed him step by step not giving the hawk any space to work. "Damn it, Natasha, don't make me hurt you."

Clint's eyes left the murderous expression of his partner and located the knife on the ground – a booted foot swept out to strike him again but Clint managed to duck under it. Diving forward Hawkeye rolled and snatched up the weapon, but the Widow was on him before he could stand and turn around – her hand shot out like a snake and her fingers secured themselves around his throat.

Seeing the end of the fight Roisin stepped closer to the pair as Natasha slammed Clint back into a tree crushing her partner's throat bit by bit.

"I could save you." The witch spoke only to Clint. "I'll give you one last chance to submit to me."

Hawkeye glared at her, gripping the knife tighter as he stared back at Natasha – the Widow's lips were curled into a satisfied smile as her grip tightened painfully. Clint couldn't answer Roisin verbally but his expression screamed his answer clear enough.

"Once you're gone maybe I'll take her. With you dead no one will come to save your dear spider." Roisin tipped her head and moved closer as Hawkeye's vision started to grow fuzzy with a high pitch ringing in his ears. Clint's grip on the knife wavered momentarily before he renewed his efforts to keep his hold. The witch reached out running thin fingers through Natasha's hair but the Widow didn't take notice.

"Her mind is nearly as twisted as yours, but her emotions are drier – less enticing. Perhaps when she realizes she's killed the only person she truly trusts she'll taste sweeter."

Despite his paling features Clint mustered up a powerful glare for the witch. Dead or alive Clint would never allow this woman to subject Natasha to an endless world of terrors.

Roisin had the nerve to smile as she moved closer to her victim. "I will miss you, Clint Barton."

Unable to draw in a breath to firer off one last snappy remark Hawkeye made his last move – hoping it would be enough. With a shaky hand Clint lifted the blade he held and shoved it deep into the witch's heart.

Silver eyes widened in shock as Roisin looked down at the knife in her chest. The silver light that glowed so eerily in her gaze flickered and faded just as the witch's brown eyes met with Clint's. Hawkeye's vision faded as the scene around them changed from the redwood forest into a suburban living room – his back now against a wall crushed into a broken picture frame instead of a tree.

Natasha's hand remained around her partner's throat, but the anger had been washed away – replaced by shock and horror. The Widow's pale lips parted as she stared at Barton – her eyes no longer tainted by silver.

A scream filled the air and the two assassin's attentions were drawn back to Roisin. The witch curled into herself stepping backwards as fire bled from her open heart consuming her body. The fire was contained – only lasting a minute at the most. The smell of burning flesh filled the house causing Hawkeye to gag slightly. Once it was finished burning there was nothing left of the witch but a pile of ashes on the carpet.

Clint's knees buckled and Natasha was quick to move forward and brace his fall. They didn't speak. Natasha stared at Clint while the hawk watched the ash left behind – fearing the Roisin would rise up once again.

When the witch didn't reappear Hawkeye let out a sigh of shaky relief, leaning his head back against the wall behind him. "Just another day at the office." Clint broke their silence with his cracked voice – the sound pushed painfully through his crushed throat. That was definitely going to leave a mark.

"Clint I'm – " Natasha hesitated, her eyes shying away from his. Barton didn't like the sound in her voice – that lighter than air wounded sound – it was almost as bad as the animalistic scream.

"Hey, I'm not that easy to get rid of." Clint smirked, his eyelids drooping as he yawned loudly. "Let's get the hell out of dodge and back to Shield. I predict a very interesting debriefing when we report back to Coulson and Director Fury."

The Widow paused for a second as if she had something more to say, but the moment past by and Natasha only nodded in agreement.

First stop back at Shield was medical. Clint was familiar with the process and it didn't take long. Apparently the damage to his throat was more superficial than anything else. It would cause him pain for a while and bruise spectacularly but for once Barton's injuries weren't life threatening. Natasha muttered something about wanting him to die slowly – though it was unclear to Clint who exactly 'he' was.

Clint didn't push the subject, Natasha's demons were her own – he had no right to ask her and cause more pain.

By the time they finished their debriefing with Fury and Coulson Barton was dead on his feet with exhaustion. Sure he had gotten a nap here and there as they traveled back from Chicago, but not as much as he wanted. Clint wanted to sleep for a week and if he was lucky Coulson might let him.

The archer's mind was still on his bed as he mumbled goodbye to Natasha and headed down the hall to his assigned room. It wasn't until Clint was inside his small space that he recalled the lost look in his Russian partner's eyes.

Barton thought about how he had been lost in his mind – trapped in a horror show of his past. How Roisin offered him the life he had always wanted and he had to turn it down. Still it didn't seem to compare to the waking terror that Natasha had suffered in. Unknowingly the Black Widow had nearly killed her partner in cold blood. Natasha hadn't gone into details about who she had been seeing it was clear by her actions that it was a rather nasty demon from her tragic past. Her memories had been used against her in the cruelest ways – that wasn't something someone could forget or get over.

The haunted look behind the Widow's eyes – Clint didn't like the memory of it.

Glancing one final time at his bed Clint turned his back on it slipping out the door and down the hall.

When Barton arrived at his partner's door he hesitated momentarily before barging in. The fact that she hadn't locked the door was a good indication that something was indeed off with Natasha.

"Nat – " Clint cut off her name when his eyes fell on her form – huddled on the floor back shoved into the corner of the room. Her bed was still made – there was no indication that the Widow had ever planned on sleeping. The Russian's eyes were staring blankly ahead, knees drawn up to her chest and secured with her arms hugging them tightly.

"Natasha?" Clint called as her eyes blinked up at him – she didn't move.

She looked exhausted as he felt – if not more so.

"Go away, Clint." The Widow requested with no bite behind the words.

Barton spent most of his time with Natasha – he knew how her mind worked. The Widow would reject help with what she considered her weakness, but she was surprisingly protective when it came to other people's fears. He'd seen it when she stayed by his side after his eyes had nearly been destroyed back in Germany two years ago.

"I couldn't sleep." The archer found himself saying. "I wanted to, but – " Clint sighed and let his eyes focus on her bed. "I keep thinking if I sleep I'll fall back into her spell again. I don't think I could – " Breathing in deep Clint cut off the rest of the sentence. The hawk looked at his partner again, her eyes watching him carefully – she hadn't moved from her venerable position on the floor. "I was wondering if it would be okay if I crashed here – you broke the spell before. If I go under, you can pull me back up."

Natasha's eyes were calculating as she watched his face for lies – there were none. Clint was afraid of that outcome – but the ach for sleep was stronger than his own fears. The one thing keeping him awake was fear for his partner's safety. Here he could protect her from herself.

A slight nod eventually came and Natasha unfolded herself from the floor and stood. Looking away from her visitor and towards her bed the Widow nodded again with a small smile. "Okay." She confirmed slipping back into her normal self. "But if you kick me in your sleep I'll break your jaw."

"Sounds fair to me." Barton smiled, stripping off his shirt and turning off the light before joining Natasha in the bed. They faced away from one another – like they always did when they shared a bed. Things were quiet as their breathing evened out, both agents lost in their own thoughts.

In the darkness Clint decided to bring up the one question that continued to bug him.

"So, Nat. How did you break me out of the spell?" Hawkeye asked playfully, not turning or moving to see his partner's reaction.

There was silence for a few moments before the Widow's reply. "Why did Coulson tell me not to pour water on your face while you were sleeping?" She answered his question with a question.

Silence followed, neither of them offering answers as they succumbed to their need for sleep

* * *

_Well that was a rollercoaster…I hope you all enjoyed the ride!_

_This whole thing was sort of sparked off of what Natasha said in the movie to Clint when he asked if she knew how it felt to be unmade and she's all, "You know I do."(or something along those lines, it's sadly been a while) Of course I realize that comment was probably aimed at her past…but this story was born from it. So there you go. ^^ _

_Roisin's name comes from a singer I like: Roisin Murphy (I listen to an abundance of weird music) If you check her out I recommend "Night of the Dancing Flame" "Ruby Blue" and "Sinking Feeling" (I also personally love "Off of it" but it's REALLY odd)_

_Thanks for following along with my little story. I hope the ending was satisfying! I may write a sequel to this if people are interested…after all true evil never really dies._

_Thanks for reading! _


	7. Chapter 4

_Warning – vague (like super vague) hints at rape. It could be taken as physical or simply mind rape. Nothing graphic at all. _

Five Times Chapter 4

Clint was lost – not literally lost, but figuratively.

Perched safe and high at the top of what remained of Stark Tower the Hawk spent his time blindly staring down at the mostly destroyed city below him. It had been a week since the battle for Earth – six days since Thor escorted Loki away. It had also been a week – well actually longer then a week – since Clint had gotten an adequate amount of sleep.

The Avengers had saved billions of lives the day of the battle, but the only lives that mattered to the broken Hawk were the ones lost.

For the most part the others kept their distance from the assassin. Clint didn't take offence to the reaction – the Hawk had been the enemy when they had first met. It had been Barton's knowledge that nearly destroyed everything from the very beginning. Loki couldn't have chosen a better slave.

When the team had been bonding together Barton had been torn apart – alone and frozen in his own mind. Separated by his experience – different from the others, Clint didn't feel like he was part of the Avengers.

Still Tony Stark allowed Clint to stay with the rest of the team at the tower – although Barton wasn't exactly sure why. Maybe the Director had requested it since Clint wasn't exactly welcomed back at Shield with open arms. Killing your own people was frowned upon no matter what the circumstances behind the action were. Especially something as absurd as 'the alien made me do it.' Those who didn't know couldn't understand – and no one could ever fully understand.

Whatever the reason for letting Barton stay the Avengers' still gave Clint a wide – watch out he might snap – berth. Which was fine, Barton didn't exactly feel like talking to them anyway.

Natasha followed Clint around like the little lamb in that nursery rhythm after the battle. Making sure he ate and more than likely trying to get a clear assessment of her partner's mental state – or at least what was left of it. Eventually even she decided to give Barton space to heal.

The archer felt so far away from everything and everyone it was hard to breathe most of the time. When Clint thought of what he had done, when he remembered Coulson was dead, when he remembered what Loki had forced him to do – the control Barton had lost – it was all too much to bare.

When Clint did sleep he purposely avoided the bedroom he had been assigned – still empty except for the small military issued duffle bag of clothes tucked in the corner of a closet that was bigger than every bedroom Clint had occupied in his lifetime.

The only time Clint rested was up on the roof underneath the comforting stars. Sleep never stayed long – nightmares chased it away as quickly as it came. Barton was exhausted, but he was alive.

Hawkeye actively avoided talking about what had happened to him under Loki's control – the archer barely talked at all anymore. Director Fury had kindly asked Clint for a written debrief of what he could remember of his time as a POW instead of demanding a verbal sit rep. Like a robot Clint had typed up everything worth sharing and obediently handed it over.

The archer did skip over parts he himself deemed 'need to know.' As it turned out no one needed to know what he kept hidden – those fragments and moments that only affected Clint in the wake of the disaster.

It didn't matter now anyway – the Avengers had been victorious and the threat had been neutralized.

The city was asleep and at peace knowing they had a shiny new group of superheroes to look after them. Hawkeye had let the world down before – he couldn't allow it to happen again. The city below him was quiet now that the chaos had settled, but Clint was still screaming in his mind for justice.

Being on the roof helped a little – beating his knuckles raw against a punching bag earlier had felt pretty good too.

Moving his gaze from the city's horizon down to look at the dried blood covering his torn skin Clint wondered vaguely why he couldn't feel the pain – was he that numb?

Yes.

With a longsuffering sigh – the first noise he had made that entire day – Clint turned his attention over to his visitor. She had been standing there for the past fifteen minutes and forty-two seconds – not making a sound as she approached or bothering to clue him in on her arrival. Barton was aware.

Clint didn't say a word but glanced back at his partner with silent permission for her to speak. Natasha looked more pissed than usual – which was saying something considering how understanding she had been recently. Clint preferred her anger and annoyance – pity was something he hadn't asked for or wanted.

"What are you doing, Clint?" The redhead demanded sharply, her arms crossing over the Russian's figure neatly in her typical threatening way.

Barton felt his lips curling into a small smile as he turned back to face the city – he missed his Natasha. "Watching." Clint answered easily – keeping up with the one-word answers trend the archer had started shortly after he had learned about Coulson's death.

"I'm done, Barton." Natasha hissed, moving forward to physically pull him away from the edge – Clint nearly lost his expert balance. Mostly because he hadn't expected the action and partially because he was so tired the sudden movement made him dizzy.

"Nat – " Clint started, trying to shake free of her iron grip.

"Shut up." She cut him off, dragging him forcefully away from the security of his new nest back and into Stark Tower.

Feeling no desire to fight – mostly because of how drained he was – the Hawk didn't struggle.

They only passed Bruce in the hallway and Clint winced slightly at the odd look of curiosity the doctor gave the two Shield agents as they marched by. On the plus side it hadn't been Tony they'd run into – Barton was to tired to deal with the man's loud mouth personality.

Throwing open Clint's bedroom door Natasha unsympathetically pushed her partner inside. "Sleep." She commanded pointing at the bed for emphasis.

"I sleep." Barton defended himself weakly – not looking at Natasha or the bed. His voice sounded hollow – empty.

"Napping on the roof doesn't count, Barton. You will sleep here, in a bed, like a normal human being." The female assassin crossed her arms again returning to her threatening stance, eyes glaring, daring Clint to question her.

Over the last few years Clint had discovered that Natasha only used his last name when she was focused on a mission or angry with him. In this particular situation Clint had a feeling she had called him 'Barton' for both reasons.

There was only silence as they both became statues – solid and unmoving on their respective sides of the war between them.

Natasha broke the stalemate first with a frustrated sigh. "Clint, if you don't sleep then would you at least talk to me?" Her vocal tone was so close to begging that Barton couldn't help but look at her for sincerity. "I miss you – you're standing right here with me but at the same time you are so far gone." There was no lie behind the Widow's eyes.

Clint dropped his eyes again – this time in shame. Inadvertently he had caused the last person in the world he wanted to hurt pain. Turning away from her Barton carefully pacing forward three paces before looking back at her. Tasha was his partner – if he couldn't open up to her who else would listen?

Coulson – but Coulson was dead.

"I don't know what you want me to say." Clint's voice was still hollow – as emotionless as his normally expressive eyes had become.

"Start by telling me what happened." Natasha stepped closer but remained at a distance that wouldn't crowd the Hawk. Clint appreciated the gesture and held his own ground turning to face her more directly.

Barton sighed at first, pausing before deciding how to answer her. "You know what happened, Nat. By now I'm sure you've hacked into Shield's database to read my report." His partner didn't know everything of course and that's what the real problem was – she knew he was hiding something.

Natasha was glaring again – in a strange way it was comforting. In a twisted way it showed Clint that she cared.

"Then tell me how you felt – could you feel anything?" Natasha took a step forward sending him a step back. Clint suddenly felt like a trapped animal with her standing between him and the door and with the bed on the other side of him.

Shutting his eyes Clint forcefully shoved down the swelling raw emotions threatening to overtake him – mentally shoving everything into a box deep inside his mind. It was a coping mechanism – an effective one at that. Or at least it would have been if the emotions weren't leaking out of the sealed box like blood from a gapping battle wound.

"I fought it at first, you know. It isn't easy when something else is playing with everything you are. Pulling your strings to go one direction when you desperately want to go the other way. I know I saved Fury and Hill's lives. The blue stuff – Loki I guess – wanted headshots, but I missed on purpose. I emptied a whole clip shooting at Hill and didn't even scratch her." His voice was monotone and unwavering until he looked over at her. Natasha looked surprised.

"You fought back," Natasha repeated, confused. "But – "

"At first." Clint corrected weakly, voice cracking a little as he looked back down at the fancy carpet. "At first I could fight him a bit. He knew – that I wasn't fully cooperating."

"Loki." Natasha clarified.

Clint flinched at the name.

"He was in my head, Nat." The emotion came rolling back into Clint and he was suddenly drowning in it. "He knew exactly what I should have been able to do with my skill – he was angry that I had been able to maintain such control." Clint scoffed lightly the smirk on his face was dark and humorless. "He kept calling me his first pet – like I was just an animal to him." Shaking his head Clint lifted a trembling hand to rub over his face. "I can't sleep, Natasha. Not in a bed."

Barton watched his partner's expression as she went from confused to terrified in a blink of an eye. An expression the Hawk never wanted to see on the Widow's beautiful face.

"Clint," Natasha whispered softly taking another careful step forward as her stance lost all of its normal threat. "What did he do to you?"

Swallowing thickly Barton decided to tell her the truth but couldn't seem to be able to form the words. Shaking his head he looked at her brokenly. "I couldn't disobey him." Clint managed to choke out. "I had to do everything he told me to do."

She allowed the silence as he regained his composure. "He asked me for information." Barton continued, "I resisted again and he – he lost it. Told me he needed to show me my place – the place of a slave." Clint's eyes closed as his head dropped forward, hands clenching into fists at his side. Nails biting into flesh drawing blood as he continued to speak. "I couldn't move – he pressed that damned staff over my heart again and everything went cold. It was like he had replaced my blood with ice."

The Hawk didn't dare look at his partner now. He couldn't stand the thought of what he might see in her eyes. The revulsion she must feel when she looks at him now. Natasha remained quiet as minutes ticked by and after a while Clint wonders if she might have left. It takes all the courage Clint has left to open up his eyes to check. In a way the Hawk's both disappointed and relieved to see she was still there. His partner's eyes were brighter than normal but her face remained blank and neutral.

"I did everything he told me to do." Clint whispered to her. "I couldn't resist and when he was done – " The Hawk's voice broke as he dropped his head and shivered visibly. "He took every shred of control from me – he stole me and replaced me with an imposter."

"_Clint_." Natasha's soft voice pleaded his name, drawing his dull eyes back to her. "There was _nothing_ you could have done differently."

Barton didn't respond – he knew and understood that he couldn't have done anything differently. Clint hadn't been in control. That knowledge still didn't make the memories any easier to live with. "I can't sleep in a bed."

"Why?" Natasha shot back quickly.

"I'm afraid if I fall asleep in a bed I'll wake up back with him." Clint gave his answer quickly like popping a dislocated limb back into its rightful place. It still hurt.

The silence that followed felt like daggers in the archer's heart. Clint didn't even realize his eyes were clenched closed until he felt a hand in his – small fingers lacing together with his own. He hadn't sensed her moving but there she was all the same.

Slowly the Hawk inched his eyes open to look at Natasha standing inches away from him.

"As long as you feel my hand in yours, you're home." Natasha promised him, leading him gently over to the bed. "You are free from his control now and forever." She told him as they lay down together on the still made bed. Their hands were still linked between their bodies as they lay their heads down on the soft pillows.

All the other times they had shared a bed her face had been turned from him – it was oddly comforting looking into her eyes now considering how scary Natasha was most of the time.

"Everything is going to be okay, Clint." Natasha spoke giving a comforting squeeze to his still trembling hand.

The exhaustion was taking over, but Barton managed to give her a small smile. "You've gotten pretty good at this whole 'emotion' thing."

"Well." Natasha actually smiled back at him – a real smile with no malice or lie behind it. "I've had an amazing teacher."

_I'm having a hard time with writers block…if I hadn't written this way before I started chapter 3 you might have been in for a long wait…as it is…well…_

_Thanks for reading. Reviews are sunbeams of golden light ^^_


	8. Chapter 5

_Writer's block didn't last as long as I thought…and now I have three new plots buzzing around in my head…sigh_

_Thanks to those who have reviewed! You make my day exciting! _

* * *

Chapter 5

It was like floating in a cloud – warm, safe, secure. Everything was made of white lights and shimmering rainbows.

An alarm went off in the Black Widows mind. When things felt good it was a sign of something being wrong.

Natasha opened her eyes, blinking way the butterfly like sparkles from her vision – trying to figure out where she was and why she felt this way. This light floating feeling – it wasn't natural. It wasn't welcomed.

Blinking owlishly the assassin's eyes focused on the IV port securely tapped into her right hand.

Drugs, they were giving her drugs. Heavy drugs by the feel of it.

Hawkeye wouldn't allow them to do this too her. Where was Clint?

The images in the Widow's were covered in thick white noise as she tried desperately to recall what had transpired before she woke.

There had been a battle and the Avengers had fought together. The details were blurred until the Widow remembered one terrifying scene in absolute clarity. An exploding building – the same building that Hawkeye had been perched upon.

Natasha could remember screaming for Stark's help as she watched Hawkeye falling. The lack of struggle informed the Widow that her partner wasn't conscious – if he had been the Hawk would have done something to stop the fall.

Natasha couldn't remember anything after that. Couldn't remember if Tony got to her partner in time. Was Barton okay? Where was her partner now? Why hadn't he told the doctors to hold off on the drugs?

Maybe there was a reason Clint had allowed this to happen. Perhaps she was severely injured and needed the drugs.

Carefully Natasha checked her body – lifting and bending her limbs carefully – nothing hurt too much. Her wrist was wrapped in an ace bandage and her ribs were bound as well. None of her injuries screamed the need for heavy pain medication but Shield doctors tended to be overly cautious.

The safe warm feeling of drugs coursed through her veins courtesy of the IV. It needed to go. Reaching over Natasha unhooked her self with practiced ease and sat up. For a moment her vision swam from the movement. No pain. Nothing.

The overpowering white light faded enough in the Widow's vision that she could look around the medical ward. Though there was a chair pulled up next to her bed it was empty. The other four beds lining the walls were vacant as well. Her team wasn't with her, but this looked and felt like a Shield facility.

Although it wouldn't be the first time someone had used a similar looking place to try and trick her into a false sense of security. It hadn't worked then either.

Where was Clint?

If he fell the archer was probably injured. Even if one of the others hand managed to catch Barton in time the impact of being caught at high velocity tended to do damage to a normal human being.

Steve should be with her as well – Natasha vaguely remembered the Captain cry out when his arm snapped. The sound echoed through her ears again, causing the Widow to clasp her hands over them protectively. Just a memory. Stupid drugs.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed Natasha lowered herself soundlessly to the floor. Barefoot and dressed in a pair of pale blue scrubs she felt uneasy. Someone had entered the room.

Turning the assassin's hand instinctively grabbed a nearby weapon as she faced the intruder.

Tony Stark stared at her in slack jawed shock. "You should not be out of bed." He finally told her, moving forward with the intent of helping her back in the bed.

Not until the Widow found her Hawk.

"Where's Clint?" Natasha demanded, swaying slightly as she took a cautious step away from her teammate. Her vision kept shifting and the Widow couldn't be sure if her eyes were playing tricks on her. Was this really Tony? Others had used drugs to confuse the Black Widow into revealing intelligence. The attempts had been unsuccessful. At some point the imposter would say something or do something revealing – breaking the illusion.

The billionaire stopped moving and held up his hands in a none-threatening manor. "Okay, don't get back in bed. See if I care." Tony pouted. "But if Banner asks can you at least tell him I gave it my best shot?"

Okay, so that answered that question. Only the real Tony Stark would choose to piss off a clearly drugged and confused assassin. Any stranger with the knowledge of the Widow's bloody ledger would reframe from getting too close or saying the wrong thing.

"Where is Barton?" The Russian hissed. Sober she could barely stand Tony's antics – high off of whatever drugs they had been pumping into her she was on edge. So close to shutting the man up if he didn't give her answers her grip around her weapon tightened.

Tony's face went through several changes that the drug masked in Natasha's mind. The expressions she was able to pick out were 'an idea' and 'deeply concerned.' Both didn't mesh, but finally Tony answered her.

"Look, I didn't want to be the one to have to tell you this." Stark started. His eyes were locked on hers searching for a reaction of some kind – what he said was a lie. If he was concerned about what he was about to say he would have avoided her gaze. "Look Barton is – " Tony faked hesitation. "What do you remember from the battle?"

"Answer my question." Natasha snapped finally dancing forward and shoving Tony against a wall, the needle she had grabbed pressed to his neck.

"Geez, Nat. Calm down!" Tony gasped staring at the needle now in wide-eyed horror. "I was kidding! Barton is fine, he's in surgery down the hall I swear!"

The killer's instinct within Natasha acted freely in her moral numbed mind. Without hesitation the Widow injected the contents of the syringe into Stark's neck. A small part of her hoped it was just a sedative while the rest of her didn't care either way. Natasha needed to find her partner and Tony had become an obstacle she couldn't afford to deal with.

"What the hell! We're on the same – " Whatever was in the needle was fast acting – after several horrified curses Tony's eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he dropped like a stone at the Black Widows feet. Without remorse she stepped over the body of her comrade and walked towards the hall.

Barton – the Widow reminded herself. She had to find him and make sure he was safe.

Using a hand to brace her self against the wall Natasha moved forward, her mind focused on her self appointed mission. If Stark had spoken any kind of truth Barton was down the hallway somewhere. The Widow would seek others to interrogate for better directions.

At some point she had slowed down the drugs threatening to take her back to that shinny safe place she had left behind. First she'd fine Barton then she could sleep.

"Natasha, what are you doing?" A calm yet confused voice asked.

Someone tall, blue and red stood before her. The Captain maybe? Her vision was too blurry to be sure.

"Barton?" She demanded, voice low with danger as she tried to focus on her newest obstacle.

"Still in surgery last I heard," Steve's voice spoke calmingly. His hands were up in a defensive way.

"Take me there." The Widow commanded.

The Captain's hesitation was enough to make the Russian fight once more. The Widow threw a punch – the Captain deflected the hit with his uninjured arm. Her spin kick was easily dodged – Natasha grabbed a hold of a wall to keep from falling over. "Stupid drugs." She muttered before facing her opponent once more.

"Natasha, please stop before you hurt yourself further!" Steve requested.

Request denied.

A few more strikes left Natasha breathing heavily and the Captain hovering at a safe distance with concern.

"I just want to see Clint." The Black Widow breathed holding herself up against the hallway wall as she struggled to stay awake.

The sound of running feet caught both Avengers' attentions and Natasha whirled around to face her new enemy – Bruce Banner.

"Stark's been attacked!" Banner announced, huffing bent over and out of breath a little too close to an unstable Natasha.

The Captain motioned for Bruce to step back from the Widow, which earned Steve a confused look from the doctor. One look at Natasha's expression and Bruce seemed to understand the threat. "Um, what's going on?" Banner asked but dutifully gave the Widow breathing room.

"Agent Romanoff would like to see Agent Barton," Steve explained with calm understanding. "Is he out of surgery yet?"

"Yeah, that's how I found Tony. He was unconscious and – oh." Banner looked from the Captain to Natasha with a look of pure understanding. "Ah, I understand. Okay, well Natasha, Clint is back in the recovering room – " The doctor let the sentence trail off waiting to see how the Russian would respond.

Natasha swayed as she judged for herself the truth behind the words. Banner was the easiest to read out of the Avengers – he was speaking the truth.

Without wasting energy in replying verbally Natasha pushed forward and around Banner heading back the way she had come from.

"Is Stark okay?" She heard Steve ask in a hushed voice behind her.

Without looking the spy knew Banner was nodding, arms probably crossed over his chest protectively. "He's just taking an unexpected nap. The sedative had been for – "

Natasha glared back at him shutting the doctor up with a nervous gulp.

"You will give me no more drugs." The threat in the Russian's tone was clear.

"Sure, uh, that'll be just fine." Banner took a step back into Steve who looked mildly amused.

They continued down the hall in silence – the boys giving Natasha plenty of space as she wobbled with one hand skimming along the wall for support.

When they entered the recovery room Natasha's eyes located Clint immediately. He was pale and unconscious tucked under a thin white sheet. An IV snaked from the back of his hand to a saline bag hanging above him.

"Tony accidentally dislocated his knee." Banner supplied the answer to her unspoken question. "He also has a few minor burns – nothing that will keep him down for long."

With only a nod of acknowledgement Natasha stepped closer to her sleeping partner. Running a hand possessively through Clint's short hair the Widow felt her knees give a bit under her exhaustion. In her drug fogged mind Natasha saw a bed and her partner. She'd be safe to sleep here.

With no hesitation Natasha curled up against Clint's warm body on the hospital bed and promptly fell asleep – arm wrapped protectively over her Hawk's chest.

* * *

_Only one more chapter. I'm a bit sad to see this one end…_

_Oh, and no worries to those who thought the next chapter was going to be explicit. As it turns out I'm too shy to write a detailed sex scene (feel free to laugh at me…) It'll probably be something simple fading out before the … good stuff. lol. _

_I have two different idea's for the last chapter and I'm probably going to have to flip a coin…or maybe I'll type up both and give you guys an 'alternative' ending. We shall see how it goes. _

_I hope everyone has enjoyed the ride so far! _

_Sincerely, me._


	9. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Hawkeye glared down his scope at his unsuspecting target. The night was black, thick clouds and cold rain blocked the stars and moon making the conditions for this hit miserable at best. Clint was soaked to the bone, hands nearly frozen onto his rifle.

"_If you're ready, Hawkeye, please take the shot_." The voice in the hawk's ear nagged. Coulson could never be replaced but this new handler was a piece of work. Douche bag engraved deep into his heart and soul. Clint was pretty sure at this point if he were to look up 'asshole' in an encyclopedia he'd see Agent Granger's face staring back at him.

While the smug bastard sat warm and dry back in the safe house, Hawkeye had been out in weather conditions not fit for an animal. Constantly Granger berated Clint over the comm. link for shots not taken. Both times civilians had been in the area and the risk level had been too high. The man had no patience and it rubbed Clint the wrong way.

Barton made a point to ignore Granger – he'd complain to Fury about the idiot later. For now the assassin focused on finishing the mission. Clint needed to get back to the Avengers Tower. He had plans and time was quickly running out.

After the hawk made a few last minute adjustments to his aim his frozen finger pulled the trigger. The bullet flew true and tore through its intended target and just like that the mission was completed.

"Target down." Clint announced as he began to pack up the rifle. Unfortunately Fury had requested Barton not bring his trusted bow along for this job – that had been as much of a disappointment as learning Natasha wouldn't be coming with him.

Clint had promised he would return in time.

"_Finally." _Granger breathed over the line. _"Get your ass back here, I've got a date." _

_So do I_, Clint thought to himself as he broke down his weapon and stowed it in its case.

A crash over the line halted Barton's movements. Granger made an odd strangled sound before two blasts of gunfire sounded quickly followed by a dull thud. Clint immediately identified the sound as a body hitting the floor.

"Granger, what's happening?" Hawkeye questioned, slipping the rifle case into a gym bag as he stood with one hand pressed against his ear. "Granger? Granger!"

"_I'm coming for you, little Hawk." _A raspy voice spoke over the connection. That was definitely not Granger.

Crap.

The door to the roof was kicked opened behind Hawkeye demanding Clint's immediate attention. "Crap." The archer sucked in a breath before he dove for cover and out of the way of several bullets.

"_Don't fear my men, Hawkeye."_ The voice spoke again. It was familiar and heavily accented._ "They are to take you alive. I want the pleasure of taking your life personally." _

Inwardly Clint groaned. Natasha was going to kill him for being late.

* * *

Natasha stared blankly out the window, a reflection of her partner on bad days. But Clint wasn't around to sit in his spot, which was painfully obvious to Natasha.

"Whatcha looking at?" Tony's voice asked from behind her. She had seen him walk into the room through the window's reflection, though she had silently hoped he'd lose his nerve and walk away. Apparently she had absolutely no luck as of late.

"Go away, Stark." Natasha begged quiet yet firmly, her eyes focused somewhere far away.

Tony hesitated for a moment, but didn't leave. "Look, I don't know what's wrong, but you're seriously worrying Steve and Bruce and they won't leave me alone. So let's resolve this thing so I can get back to work and you can get back to doing whatever it is assassins do, okay? Okay." Tony clapped his hands together in front of him and flopped down on the couch next to Natasha.

The Black Widow ignored him.

"Okay – " Tony stretched out the word when he received no reply. "What's going on? You haven't exactly been subtle in your moping – I mean seriously, it's been two days. Is this about Feathers? I'm sure Barton can take care of himself."

The billionaire paused for a moment, dropping his head to the side in second thought. "Well, he can handle himself most of the time. Although his talent for getting himself into trouble is almost as awesome as mine – " Tony rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish look. "This isn't helping, is it?"

Natasha knew Tony wouldn't leave her alone until he was satisfied or dead. And since killing him wasn't an acceptable option…

"He's late." She answered him simply, her expression made of stone – eyes still focused on the window.

"Wait, the mission had a timeline?" Tony's eyes narrowed, his question sincere with concern. For some odd reason Clint and Tony had become good friends. Actually Clint had grown attached to all of the Avengers – truthfully Natasha had as well.

"No," Natasha sighed before she glanced at her annoyance. "Tonight is our anniversary."

Tony's jaw dropped. "Y-you two _are_ married! Yes, hey Bruce!" He turned his head towards the hallway and shouted the doctor's name. "You owe me fifty bucks! They're married!"

Natasha didn't blink but her eyes narrowed fractionally. It wasn't like she hadn't known about the bet, it was actually an inside joke between her and Barton. "The anniversary of our first mission together, Stark."

"Damn it." Tony cursed looking away. Somewhere beyond the living room Banner snickered.

"You two don't have to hide down the hall." Natasha called out. Her solitude had already been broken she might as well invite people she actually liked to the small party.

Steve and Banner shyly made their appearances and joined the rest of the team – minus Clint and Thor, who was visiting Jane – in the living room. After a year of working together the Avengers had grown into a twisted little family.

Once they were all seated the tension seemed to grow with the silence.

"He could still make it," Steve offered finally. "The day's not over, Clint could show up any minute now."

Natasha shook her head slowly. "Even if he got back to Shield right now he would still have to debrief with Fury and report to medical." She shrugged, trying to pretend she didn't care – but it was obvious she did. It had been obvious all day.

"How do you know he hasn't gotten back?" Tony asked curiously. His answer was a glare. "Right, he'd call." The billionaire huffed, crossing his arms protectively over his glowing chest. "You know, if looks could kill we'd seriously have to get you a blindfold."

"Have you ever spent the day apart?" Bruce asked timidly.

"You must have, right? Going off on separate missions." Tony interrupted – Steve elbowed him in the side. "What, it was a legit assumption."

"We've spent it being tortured together, sparing together on a beach, recovering together in the medical wing, we've spent it on stake outs, at Shield, once Clint sweet talked Fury into giving him a cover to take me out to dinner when I was baby sitting an asset. This will be the first time in the nine years we've been partners that we'll spend it apart."

* * *

Hood pulled low over his face Hawkeye walked down the street. He'd gotten off the roof with minor injuries – two grazes, one on his thigh the other on his right bicep and a few new bruises and minor cuts. Clint had managed to take three of the five men out before he bolted. Taking a leap off his building to crash through a window of the building adjacent.

After rushing his way out of the thankfully empty apartment Clint took to the streets and did what he did best – blended in. The new sweatshirt Clint had grabbed in the apartment helped hide his appearance from those hunting him. And they were hunting him. Groups of men patrolled the streets asking questions and barking orders.

He wasn't sure who was after him this time but the man appeared to be pretty damned determined.

Hawkeye spotted a payphone down the street he was walking and checked his pocket for change. Popping the right amount into the machine Clint dialed the number.

"_Shield Insurance, how may I direct your call_?" A cheery voice greeted him on the other end.

"Code Zulu Alfa six, forty-two, four nine four. I need to speak with Fury, now." Clint rattled the code off easily. Eyes scanned the streets as he waited for his identification to be accepted.

"_Agent Barton confirmed, transferring you to Director Fury. Please hold the line_."

"Easy for you to say." Clint muttered. The girl wasn't in the middle of a mission gone completely sideways.

"_Fury_." A sharp growl filled the speaker.

"Director, we've run into a slight problem." Clint greeted in a mock cheerful voice.

"_Barton, where the hell is Granger_?"

"Dead. Killed just after I finished the hit. The safe house was compromised – the guy in charge knew me by name. I'm being hunted." Clint stilled when one of the groups came into view from the payphone.

"_Damn it, he was never supposed to know you were there_." Fury cursed to him self.

"Who?"

"_Classified, just get your ass back here. Use any means necessary._"

Clint blinked. "How is the information regarding someone trying to kill me classified?"

"_Take it up with council, Barton._" Fury sighed. "_Just get back here in one piece_."

"I'll do my best." Clint hissed. "If I make it out of here I'm going to the Tower. You can debrief me in twenty-four hours."

"_Not acceptable_."

"Take it up with Natasha." Clint shot back and hung up the phone. Yes, he'd probably get reprimanded, but Fury had a secret soft spot for his best marksman. Everything would work out for the best.

* * *

"What if we took you to him? We could fire up my privet plane and – "

"Stark, this isn't a mission we should interrupt. It could blow the whole op." Natasha shook her head. "Besides, everything is fine. It's just a stupid day."

The others clearly didn't believe her lie – Natasha didn't believe herself either.

"We should do something to get your mind off of it." Bruce offered. "I don't think you've eaten anything since – "

"I'm not hungry." Natasha snapped at the doctor. Bruce shrunk back and the assassin sighed apologetically. "Look, I just want to be alone."

Hesitantly the boys exchanged glances and stood together.

"If you need anything, let us know." Steve requested before they left the room.

Once alone again Natasha fixed her eyes on the city's horizon. Time moved by both agonizingly slow and painfully fast. When the sun started to set Natasha was ready to give up hope. The day was nearly at a close and her hawk hadn't come home to her. It was silly for her to feel so disappointed, but couldn't help herself.

It was close to midnight when Jarvis made the announcement. "_Mr. Stark, there seems to be a helicopter trying to land on the Tower. It appears to be in rather poor shape."_

Natasha glanced back at Tony – who had been riffling through the fridge – questioningly.

"Let's go check it out." Stark shrugged, shutting the door as Natasha led the way to the roof. Opening the door revealed the helicopter, the copper blades slowing down as the machine cooled down and the pilot dropped out onto the roof.

The wind kicked up, sending Natasha's red hair into a fiery dance as she reached for her sidearm.

"Did I make it?" Clint called out, walking around the bullet riddled helicopter.

The two Shield agents stared at each other from across the roof.

"Jarvis, what time is it?" Tony asked quickly.

"_Twenty-four seconds until midnight, sir_." The AI answered dutifully.

With a smirk Barton moved forward, tugging his partner closer to him as he bent forward and kissed her on the lips. "Happy anniversary, Nat."

Shocked Natasha looked up into her partner's stormy blue eyes unsure if she should hit him or kiss him again. "You made it." She whispered, a small smile playing on her pale lips.

"I ran into a little trouble along the way, but yeah, I made it." Clint grinned.

At some point Tony had left the roof. Natasha was actually a little unnerved that she hadn't been able to pay attention to the world around her when Clint made his appearance.

"I'm sorry I made you wait." Clint spoke again, slightly out of breath.

"You can make it up to me." Natasha pulled him a little closer. "We have all night."

* * *

_Well, there you have it! The end._ _Well I have an alternative ending as well, that'll be up eventually. I hope you guys enjoyed the ride! _

_If you want to read something while you're waiting for my next adventure (I have three in the works...) I have two one shots you can check out. "Alibis and Lying Eyes" and "He Dreams He's Asleep (Avengers)" _

_Oh, and I do plan to get this 'refined' so if a beta out there would like to help me out…my grammar skills (or lack there of) could use the help ^^;_

_Thanks for reading! You guys have all been incredibly awesome! This is my most favorited/reviewed story to date! I couldn't have done it without support! Thank you so much! _


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